


dancing in the dark

by clairdeloune



Series: dancing in the dark [1]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Canon Divergence, Explicit Sexual Content, Getting Back Together, Gryles Friendship, Light Angst, M/M, Slow Burn, a lot of tea, and an onslaught of feelings, and wine, author's denial about louis being a dog person, both Louis' and Harry's families are in this, if you don't like nick this fic probably isn't for you, mentions of Niall/OMC, mentions of past Louis/OMC, mentions of some past internalised homophobia, stylinshaw friendship, they make up for the lack of communication in the past with a lot of communication, tomlinshaw friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-05
Updated: 2017-11-05
Packaged: 2019-01-26 17:03:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 74,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12562072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clairdeloune/pseuds/clairdeloune
Summary: Harry takes a deep breath and then slowly lets it out. He lifts his head and meets Louis’ eyes again.“Do you think they could—” Harry stops, swallows dryly; Louis tilts his head to the side, silently urging him to go on. “Do you think they could forgive that someone, then? At some point?”Louis just looks at him for a moment, quiet, contemplating. “I think maybe, in some ways, they already have,” he says finally, his voice soft.Or: Harry comes out and it brings more than he's expected.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've had this idea in my head for around four years, I've spent over a year writing it, put my whole heart into it, and I can't believe I actually got to the point of sharing it on here. 
> 
> The biggest thank you goes to Amber, because this would never exist without her. You've been holding my hand through the entire process of writing and editing this fic, and getting to know you better and actually meeting you has been one of the greatest things to come out of writing it, and it'll always have a special place in my heart because of that.
> 
> Thank you to Heidi for betaing this and being the first person to encourage me to give this idea a shot, and for your unwavering belief that I can do it justice.
> 
> Also, thank you to Hannah and Anna and Alice for reading this along the way and offering their support. It means more than I could ever say.
> 
> I love all of you very much. <3
> 
>  
> 
> This should be obvious, but: this is a work of fiction about fictional lives of fictional versions of people. Title from Perfect by Ed Sheeran. 
> 
> **Additional warning** , just to be safe: please be aware that a homophobic slur is mentioned twice at the beginning of this fic.

The woman on the news is wearing a colourful dress and has a bright smile on her face. It’s one of the taught, practised ones — Harry knows it all too well after too many years of media training and finding his place in the industry. Her voice is cheerful, with all the gasps and dramatics meant to engage and entertain the audience and Harry gets it, he does; he just wishes his personal life wasn’t treated like a show, like something out there for the world to judge and comment on. She’s talking about it like she would about a film or a book that suddenly surprised her with an interesting plot twist, as if she isn’t asking people what their opinion on Harry coming out is, whether it’s something genuine or something to attract a certain audience, because— and Harry feels sick, he feels absolutely sick, because even though he knew not every reaction would be nice and supportive, he’d wished, he’d _hoped_ —

“… ladies like that kind of thing now, right? Is there anything better than two attractive boys making out?” she continues, like it's nothing, just a funny, entertaining piece of gossip and not a huge, vital part of who he is, like Harry hasn’t been scared shitless to tell people, hasn’t spent weeks wondering whether he’s making the right decision. She goes on about how maybe he’s bisexual, since he did date all those women, acting as though he hasn’t explicitly stated in his interview that _yes_ , he does in fact identify as _gay_ , like she's completely oblivious to how PR relationships work and that they’re more common than most people would think, like she isn’t in the same industry as Harry and doesn’t know any better. 

He turns the TV off and takes a deep breath, closes his eyes. Over the last few weeks, he’s repeated countless of times that he’s ready for this, that he definitely wants this, that he knows some people will be arseholes, but he can deal with it. He’d hoped that maybe now, maybe after everything with One Direction had died down and he’s not in the spotlight anymore, at least not nearly as much as he used to be at the height of their fame, it wouldn’t be as hard. 

(Especially since he’s not the first member of One Direction to publicly come out, but he’s tried not to think about that much, about being young and stupid and in love, and so scared, but so full of hope and plans that never came to be in the end.)

There are messages on his phone that he has yet to reply to, tweets from his fans he’s supposed to acknowledge. He tweeted his thank you’s after the news first broke, but he was too afraid to look at his mentions. He’s supposed to. Kate, his manager, has reminded him at least twice by now, but he’s still so fucking scared. He knows most of his fans won’t say anything terrible, will be as supportive as ever, but there will be some who are less happy, who will feel betrayed and lied to. And he can deal with shit from the media, even if it still fucking sucks, he’s dealt with it for the last decade, but he’s not sure if he can take it from his fans as well. And somehow the harsh, hurtful comments, even if not as numerous, always stand out more.

His mum asked him to come home. Harry said no, mumbling something about responsibilities and managing everything, but it’s been three days since the offer and he can feel himself crumbling. It’d be easy to get a private plane back to England, sneak out of LA without anyone knowing and hide back in Holmes Chapel for a little while, not having to face the world until everything dies down. To stay there until there’s something new in the tabloids, something more interesting than Harry Styles coming out after ten years of being in the closet, where, for a big portion of that time, he was thought of as the biggest lothario, someone entirely incapable of having platonic relationships with women. 

So, yeah, it would definitely be easier and more pleasant to hide and curl up in his mum’s arms and maybe have a little cry. She would never judge him for it, would never say anything about it if he didn’t want to talk. She’d just be there for him, a constant support, like she has for his entire life. But he can’t. He’s not ashamed of who he is, and despite everything, he wouldn’t make this decision if he wasn’t prepared for the inevitable backlash. It hurts, of course it does, but he’ll get through it. He has to.

Also, he has a good reason not to leave — Liam and Niall are coming to stay with him this weekend. They’ve done this a couple of times a year since the band split up, taking at least a week to spend together in Los Angeles, because Harry’s house it too big just for him anyways and he loves having them here. They had known about his plans to come out, of course, long before anything actually happened. Harry called them to ask if he’s doing the right thing, to let them know when the final decision was made. They aren’t as close anymore, definitely not like they used to be back in the day, living in each other’s pockets and spending every breathing moment together; they all have their careers and things they need to take care of, and sometimes life gets a bit too busy and hectic to keep in touch. There’s still love between them, though, years of trust and friendship not so easily erased. They sent supportive texts and talked to him after the interview was released, reminding him that they’ll see each other soon, that they’re proud of him.

There was a person missing, a text he was stupidly, selfishly waiting for that never came, but he didn’t, _doesn’t_ , let himself be disappointed. He shouldn’t have expected anything else, not after everything that has happened.

He doesn’t check any more news outlets — he knows there’s a video from yesterday, has seen people on Twitter talking about it when he sneaked a glance at his timeline before chickening out and putting his phone away. He was trying to get to his car and ignore the paps who were asking questions that were way out of line, doing his best to keep a smile on his face, though it couldn’t help hide the bags under his eyes, how tired he looked in general. He couldn’t stop the flinch when one of them finally got impatient and screamed _look over here, fag!_ , his shoulders hunching as he tried to push through, tried not to give any of them the reaction they were so desperately hoping for. He lowered his eyes and pressed his lips into a thin line, didn’t say anything, but it didn’t stop them from yelling at him like that was an okay thing to do. He just kept moving, so he could drive away before anyone noticed how badly his hands were trembling. 

For as long as he remembers, he’s always said that there’s a huge difference between acting and lying, getting into a character and hiding something. He was in a few films and he knows he did well, people were pleased with the result and he had lots of fun doing it, but he’s always been crap at lying. Louis used to tease him about it, say that he could read Harry like an open book without even trying. But then again, maybe he shouldn’t be comparing Louis to the rest of the world. Louis always knew him better than anyone else, like somehow over the years he’s learned how to take a look inside Harry’s brain and pick out all the thoughts and feelings there, even those Harry wouldn’t ever admit to having. He wishes—

 _No_. He’s not going to do this to himself.

He sets his jaw and gets up, glances at the clock. It’s barely nine in the evening, but he feels exhausted, completely drained. He hasn’t been sleeping well for God knows how long now, _too_ long, but there’s also this different kind of tired, the one he thinks no amount of sleep could fix. He wants— he doesn’t know what the fuck he wants and maybe that’s the worst of it all. He feels like he wants to crawl out of his own skin sometimes, like there’s some weird energy trapped inside of him and he has no idea how to get rid of it. He feels like he’s been on the verge of crying all the time for the past week, but for some reason tears won’t actually come. 

He takes a long shower, trying to clear his head, and gets into bed. He texts Liam back about some lyrics he’s been struggling with and also to let him know that Harry’s actually still alive and doing fine. There’s no doubt in his mind that as soon as he stopped talking to his mum on the phone, she called Liam and made him promise that once he gets to LA, he will make sure Harry’s still eating and taking care of himself properly. Harry knows she worries a lot, would fly out to LA just so she could take him home forcibly if she thought that’d actually work and be good for him.

“Well, you’re on the other side of the bloody world, excuse me if I’m worried about my baby,” she’d said and Harry knew she didn’t mean to make him feel guilty, but that didn’t stop him from doing so anyway. He misses her a lot, knows she can’t just leave everything and fly out to California to see him all the time, and he himself doesn’t go back home much. That’s the thing, though. He made a home for himself here and England brings back too many memories to deal with. He’s trying his best and he’ll be fine. He doesn’t want people to worry for no reason — they have enough on their plates already.

Liam texts him back three exclamation marks so Harry assumes he’s happy with Harry’s idea. There’s another text from Kate; she’s as much checking up on him as making sure he remembers that he still hasn’t been on Twitter. She did suggest that someone else could go on Harry’s account and tweet for him if Harry didn’t feel up for it, but he refused. He’s fine with other people tweeting promotional tweets or anything along those lines for him, but if he’s supposed to actually reply to his fans, he doesn’t want it to be fake, especially when it’s about something like this.

He takes a deep breath, gearing himself up, and opens the app, going straight into his mentions.

There are people telling him that they’re proud of him and happy for him and that they’ll love and support him no matter what. He wants to jokingly respond that he hopes there are some instances in which they wouldn’t keep supporting him, but when he actually types it out, it falls a bit flat and too serious, and he ends up just simply thanking them. There are others who thank _him_ , who tell him their stories and how much hope he gives them, that if someone they look up to is gay and open about it, then maybe it’s okay for them, too, that maybe it means that their parents would understand and wouldn’t hate them for it. It breaks his heart and makes his throat feel tight, but he fights beyond it, tells them how important they are and that he loves them instead.

He thinks about his own insecurities and fears, how scared he was for so fucking long. Louis called him a coward once, spat it in his face in the middle of a fight, and Harry doesn’t think he was wrong. He’s been scared for such a long time, of so many things — he never forgot the look on Louis’ face, how angry and hurt he sounded, and he has tried to use it to better himself, to grow. He hopes he has. He hopes that maybe now he can give something back, help someone else, ease someone’s struggles, even if only a little.

There are people who aren’t as kind, filling his mentions with homophobic slurs and all sorts of other terrible things, accusing him of lying and being disgusting, and he tries to blink through the stinging in his eyes. He should be used to the hate erupting from every corner of the Internet, used to harsh words and people acting much braver than they ever would in real life, not scared of consequences and just looking for attention. He _is_ used to it, for most part, but he feels emotionally raw already, exposed and left bare, and it hits right where it hurts most.

After one too many tweets asking why Louis didn’t tweet him when both Liam and Niall did, he decides it’s been enough for one day and sends out a _goodnight. x_ before closing Twitter. He gets another message from Kate and it’s just a single red heart emoji. Over time she’s become one of his best friends and he knows it’s her way of both thanking him and offering support, and it brings a small smile to his face. He sends one back himself and then puts his phone on the bedside table and closes his eyes.

He doesn’t know how long it takes him to fall into a restless sleep, just that when he wakes up, he feels groggy and confused, and like he couldn’t possibly have slept for more than an hour.

It takes him a moment to realise that it was a doorbell that woke him up, and he slowly gets up, grabs a tee from a chair and puts it on as he heads downstairs, without even checking the time.

He looks at the little screen on his intercom, showing him who’s outside, and freezes.

“ _No_.”

The word slips out before he can stop it and he shakes his head, like maybe it’ll somehow make the person disappear, like maybe it’s just his eyes playing tricks on him, his brain not fully awake yet, and it’s not actually _Louis_ outside his house. Harry just keeps standing there, staring, until the doorbell rings again. He shuts his eyes in an attempt to escape it all, but when he opens them, Louis is still standing there, shifting his weight from one foot to the other as he glances around.

“Fuck,” Harry mutters and presses the button to open his gate, waits for the knock on the door. When it finally comes, there’s a second when he still contemplates ignoring it, running upstairs to his room instead and hiding in his bed, like he’s still a bloody child instead of a twenty-six year old man who should know better by now.

He does open the door in the end, and he knows he’s staring, he _does_ , his hand shaking as he grips the doorknob. Louis is wearing trackies and a hoodie, and there’s a bag on his shoulder that he keeps rearranging. He looks tried, like maybe he’s come here straight from the airport, but Harry pushes that thought away; there’s no reason to think that. There’s no reason for Louis to do that. They haven’t seen each other in over four years and it’s definitely not a good time to think about the last time they did.

“Hi,” Louis says and he sounds exactly the same and Harry’s _still fucking staring_. He makes himself look away, swallows, and doesn’t pinch his arm no matter how much he wants to, because it feels like some fucked up dream that’ll leave him feeling empty and hollow for days. “Did I wake you up?”

He did, of course, but Harry can’t bring himself to care about that right now.

“Hi?” He replies, and for some reason it sounds more like a question than a statement. “Um. What are you doing here?”

If Harry’s not mistaken, the corners of Louis’ lips curl up a bit at the question, or maybe it’s because of the confusion clearly lacing Harry’s voice. He doesn’t let himself look long enough to be sure.

“You invited me, didn’t you? So I’m here.” It sounds almost nonchalant, like there’s nothing weird about him showing up at Harry’s doorstep unannounced at — Harry glances at the time — _eight_ in the morning, after years of actively avoiding each other and without as much as sending each other a happy birthday text.

“It’s not for another few days,” Harry says dumbly, because his brain can’t comprehend this, and he doesn’t understand what Louis is _doing here_. He doesn’t mention that he, Liam and Niall have been meeting each year since the band broke up and Louis has never had any trouble ignoring the invitation and never showing up before. He’s sure they’re both well aware of that, and he doesn’t have any right to judge Louis for that, not when it’s his own goddamn fault.

“Yeah, Harry, I know,” Louis replies and there’s something in his voice Harry can’t quite put his finger on, but it makes his chest feel even tighter, makes it hard to swallow past the lump in his throat. “Do you want me to go?” he asks, his eyes never leaving Harry’s face, almost like he’s searching for something there.

“That’s not— stay, please. Come in.” Harry moves aside and when Louis smiles at him and steps inside, Harry stops himself from doing something as pathetic as falling straight into his arms and just staying there for a little bit, breathing him in. Louis looks around as he keeps going further into the house, because, Harry realises, he’s never actually been here before, and Harry starts feeling so anxious he can’t keep his mouth shut. “I’m sorry about the mess, I haven’t really been expecting anyone and with everything going on lately I just— Um, do you want something to drink? Breakfast? I’m not sure what I have in the fridge, but if you wanted— I mean, I could—“

“Harry,” Louis interrupts him before Harry can work himself into a full on anxiety attack, turning around to face him and putting his hands on Harry’s shoulders. “Slow down. You need to breathe, H, come on.”

It’s not as easy as it sounds, especially when Harry feels like his heart will beat out of his chest because of Louis casually calling him by the old nickname, but he closes his eyes and makes an attempt anyway, focusing on Louis’ voice all the while.

“In and out, c’mon. I don’t care about the mess.” He’s still gripping Harry’s shoulders, grounding him. “I came here because I thought maybe you… maybe you could use a friend.” His voice is soft and gentle; Harry opens his eyes and stares at him, because he’s not sure if he heard that right. Louis’ eyes are warm, watching him carefully. “Saw the news and all. Wanted to check up on you, make sure you’re okay.”

The way Louis says it, like it’s not a big deal, like it’s something completely normal and natural… Harry’s not sure he can put into words how it makes him feel. He’s not even sure if there are words for something like that.

“I don’t—“ _I don’t deserve this_ , he wants to say, but his lip is quivering and his voice is shaking, and he _can’t_. It’s too fucking much. “ _Louis_ ,” he chokes out and he can’t stop the tears now, can’t stop the sob escaping his lips, because apparently even after everything, even when he has every right to never want to see Harry again, Louis is here to make sure Harry’s _okay_. He’s here because he thinks that Harry might need a _friend_. Christ.

He’s right _here_ , leaving his bag on the floor and stepping closer, pulling Harry into a hug, holding him as Harry grips his hoodie and cries, moving his hand up and down Harry’s back in soothing motions.

“It’s all right,” Louis murmurs, not letting him go. “You’re okay, H, just let it out.”

Harry’s not sure how long they stay like this, but it feels like now that he’s started crying, he won’t be able to stop. At one point, Louis says, “I’m so proud of you. I know how hard it is, how scary, and you’re such a brave person, Harry, you’re going to help so many people,” and it just makes Harry cry even harder.

The embarrassment hits once he takes a step back; he wants to kick himself or hide somewhere or apologise, or everything at once. Instead, he takes a deep, steadying breath and slowly lets it out. He can’t quite bring himself to look Louis in the eyes right now.

He still thinks he might actually be sleeping, and in a moment he’ll jerk awake and he’ll be alone in his bed again, with Louis on the other side of the world, hating him and never wanting to see him again. Definitely not looking at him like he is right now, with careful eyes and something akin to quiet understanding.

In all the ways he imagined seeing Louis again, he never thought it would start with Harry crying all over him.

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” he says meekly, wiping his face. “I’ll wash that for you,” he adds, nodding towards the wet marks on Louis’ hoodie. God, he’s so fucking embarrassed.

“It’s all good,” Louis replies, waving him off, and he sounds like he means it. “I’ll just give it a wash at my place, don’t worry about it.”

Harry opens his mouth to argue, but after a second he deflates and nods. He watches as Louis tugs the hoodie off and puts it into his bag, without any trace of annoyance on his face. It fucks with Harry’s head a bit, because that’s not— that’s just not what he’s been expecting in those rare moments when he let himself think about how Louis would act if they ever met again.

He clears his throat. “Would you like some breakfast?” He asks again and this time his voice _almost_ doesn’t shake.

Louis smiles. Harry lets himself look, just for a little while, just in case this maybe doesn’t last.

“That’d be lovely, I didn’t eat anything on the plane,” Louis says. Harry doesn’t ask about the bag he’s got with him and whether the rest of his luggage is already somewhere else; he doesn’t ask why he came here so early instead of going to his own place first; doesn’t voice the thoughts that maybe something to eat and a nap would change his mind about seeing Harry. He wants to say all of that, but he doesn’t. He has Louis here, in his house, for some reason _smiling_ at him, and he’s not going to ruin it. He feels tired and worn out and most of all confused, but there’s a bit of lightness in his chest that wasn’t there before, like maybe he let out some of the heaviness and exhaustion along with his tears.

So he just nods and heads towards the kitchen, Louis quietly following behind him. The silence’s slightly unwavering, but it might be just paranoia on Harry’s end. He’s still expecting to turn around and find Louis gone or, worse, find him upset and angry, or, _Christ_ , maybe it’s all just a big fucking joke and Louis will laugh in his face in the end.

He feels guilty as soon as the thought appears in his head; Louis isn’t like that. No matter how much he could possibly hate Harry, he would never do something so terrible and hurtful. God, Harry should feel fucking ashamed of himself.

“What would you like to eat?” he makes himself ask, not looking at Louis, going straight for the fridge. There isn’t much there — he’s supposed to go grocery shopping soon, show up in public, make an appearance. There will be someone waiting for him who’ll take some pictures. Kate’s promised she’d find someone decent who wouldn’t say anything bad or make Harry feel uncomfortable. She also made sure he knew he didn’t have to do it if he didn’t feel up for it, that he could order his groceries online or she could drop them off if he just gave her a call.

He knows he should do it, but when he thinks about it the only thing that shows up in his head is that fucking video, how the way to his car felt much longer than it actually was, how it felt like he was physically hit when the word _fag_ left the pap’s mouth—

Fuck. Fuck, he’s just tired. He wants to sleep for at least the next two days. _At least_.

“Harry.”

There’s a hand on his wrist, causing him to let go of the fridge. He watches the door close slowly.

“Harry, look at me.”

 _Why do you even care?_ Harry desperately wants to ask, but the words don’t make it past his lips. _Why do you still give a shit?_

Maybe he’s scared of what the answer would be.

He looks up, meets Louis’ eyes. There’s a crease between his eyebrows that Harry wants to smooth out with his fingers.

“Are you alright?” Louis asks and Harry’s lost count of how many people have asked him that during the past few days, their interest more or less genuine. But, God, Louis sounds like the answer is important, like it actually _matters_ , and Harry has to swallow down a new wave of tears that’s threatening to spill out.

“I’m okay,” he says and hopes Louis doesn’t notice that his hands are shaking. He thinks it might be from the lack of sleep, because it hasn’t really stopped lately. “I’m just tired. Haven’t been sleeping that well.” He offers a shaky smile. Louis keeps watching him for a moment longer, before apparently deciding to let it go. He drops his hand and Harry tells himself he doesn’t immediately miss the touch.

“Yeah, that’s understandable.” Louis nods, and Harry realises Louis in fact _does_ understand it, is speaking from experience. He thinks he should maybe say something about it, but he can’t find the right words, so he just stays silent. “I’m sorry I came here so early,” Louis continues and Harry wants to stop him, tell him not to worry about it, that he prefers to see Louis than sleep anyway — well, _okay_ , maybe he wouldn’t mention _that_ out loud — but before he has a chance to even open his mouth, Louis says, “I just really wanted to see you today,” and it’s almost like he _wants_ Harry to start crying again.

Louis keeps explaining, “I was worried that if I got to my bed first, I’d just end up falling asleep, and I have some meetings in the afternoon—“

Oh. Of course he didn’t come all the way to Los Angles just to see Harry again, why would he do that, what was Harry even thinking—

“—I was supposed to handle everything online but I thought that since I’m here, I’ll find some time to do it in person instead, so I called and they told me to come today.” Louis shrugs, like it’s not a big deal, while Harry stares at him and tries not to break down into fucking pieces right in front of him.

“I can’t believe you’re here,” he blurts out like the goddamn moron that he is, but Louis’ face softens a bit and he smiles. Harry’s still leaning towards the dreaming theory, if he’s being completely honest.

“Need me to pinch you or something?” Louis asks like he can somehow guess what Harry’s thinking. Harry does actually consider it for a second, but then he just shakes his head, turning back towards the fridge. He tries to push the thoughts of having to go shopping to the back of his mind.

“Are pancakes okay?”

“’Course.” He can hear Louis moving behind him, taking a seat at the table. “Are you sure you don’t want to go back to sleep? I could come over some other time.” Harry’s not looking at him, but he thinks for the first time since he showed up, Louis sounds a little uncertain, and Harry’s not sure if that makes him feel better or worse about this entire situation.

The good thing about not facing Louis when he says it is that he can’t see the slight look of panic crossing Harry’s face at the thought of Louis leaving right now.

Maybe it’s because he’s tired and feeling overly emotional, maybe it’s because he’s scared that if Louis leaves, he won’t come back again, or maybe it’s simply that Louis’ only just got here, and Harry can’t stand the thought of watching him go.

“Please stay,” he says and there’s a note of desperation in his voice, not hidden well enough. He wonders how Louis would react if Harry asked for another hug. He doesn’t, just stays right where he is and puts the kettle on. “Tea? Coffee?”

“Tea, please,” Louis decides and it’s a good enough confirmation that he’s staying at least for breakfast, without him stating so explicitly. Harry relaxes slightly. “Just a—“

“—a dash of milk and no sugar, I remember,” Harry finishes for him before he can stop himself. He thinks that maybe he should be embarrassed about it, but he isn’t, not really. He’d learned how to make Louis’ tea back at the X Factor house and he’d been doing it practically every day for the next three years, and sometimes even after everything went wrong and got fucked up, back before the band split up.

The last time he made it, Louis was asleep in bed, and sometime during the night the duvet had slipped down to his hips, leaving his naked back uncovered. There was a mark on his skin from Harry’s lips; Harry put the cup of tea on the bedside table and let himself look for a moment, take it in. He used to wonder how everything would have turned out if Louis had woken up then, or if Harry had stayed, or if Louis had ever picked up the phone when Harry had tried to call him afterwards. Then he tried not to think about it at all.

“Do you still take yours so disgustingly sweet?” Louis asks and, God, he used to hate that. More often than not he would mix up his mug and Harry’s, or would just automatically go to take a sip of Harry’s tea as soon as he noticed it, and then he always made a face and complained about it in the most dramatic way he could come up with.

“Didn’t you hear about my diet? No junk food. No refined sugar. Just kale and the rays of the sun.” Harry looks at Louis over his shoulder and offers a slightly bitter smile. “Goes along nicely with the story about some model I’ve never seen in my life and the solo album I still haven’t recorded.” He shrugs. It’s not so terrible, nowhere near how it used to be back in the One Direction days; he doesn’t care much about most of it, and he knows there will always be something ridiculous circling around in the media. His current team takes care of all the bad rumours, though, ones that back in the day used to go unannounced and shape his image a certain way.

There’s still some bitterness he feels every time, because some things apparently won’t ever go away.

“Guess I shouldn’t tell them about that leftover pizza in your fridge, then?” Louis asks and Harry’s smile turns a bit more genuine.

“Breaking news,” he says wryly, and it’s not funny at all, but Louis still laughs. Making Louis laugh has always felt like an accomplishment, like he’s done something right, and apparently that hasn’t changed if the warm feeling spreading through his chest is anything to go by.

The next silence that falls over them is slightly more comfortable, doesn’t feel so suffocating, like Harry immediately has to come up with something to say. Louis smiles at him when Harry passes him his tea and chats to him a bit about the meeting he has later, something regarding his record label and a new girl group he’s recently started working with, and he gets so excited and passionate, Harry barely saves one of the pancakes from burning because he’s too busy watching Louis.

He said once, back when they were recording their first film, that Louis is a great person to sit and admire what he’s like. It’s still the same, after so many years — there’s just something about Louis that makes you want to listen to him for hours on end, and it’s hard to look away.

They have their breakfast on the couch in the lounge; Harry turns the telly on and they watch some random film while eating. Harry wouldn’t say it’s necessarily uncomfortable, but _he_ feels a bit awkward and out of place. He wouldn’t have any problem doing this with any of his friends, but— well, that’s the thing, isn’t it? He can’t really call Louis a _friend_ , not anymore, and Louis’ presence makes him feel like he’s torn between familiarity and the exact opposite of that, between starting to feel more and more relaxed with every joke and smile from Louis, and being painfully aware of his every move and word, like doing just one thing wrong will cause this all to go up in flames.

So of course that’s when Louis says, “I think I should go.”

Harry’s head snaps up, his eyes wide.

“What— Why— Did I—“

“Fuck, that came out wrong.” Louis sighs and turns around to face Harry. “I didn’t mean it like that.” He sounds genuinely sorry, and Harry tries to tell his heart to slow down, because it’s started beating so fast, he’s worried it’ll actually beat out of his chest. “I know there are things we need to talk about but— Harry, you’re acting like you’re scared to even _breathe_ my way and the last thing I want to do is make you uncomfortable and make everything even harder on you. You’re going through enough already,” he says and that’s… definitely not what Harry was expecting to hear.

“Louis—“

“I just wanted to make sure you’re alright. I know you have your friends and family but I went through this, okay? I know at least some of what you have to deal with. I wanted you to know I’m here if you need me.”

“Now you’re just trying to make me cry,” Harry complains, but it’s weak and shaky.

Louis smiles at him.

“I’ll leave you my phone number and if you want to do something after I’m done with my meetings, you can just text me, yeah? Or tomorrow or the day after that or once Liam and Niall come here. Just let me know and—“

“Why are you doing this?”

Louis pauses. “What?”

“Why are you doing this?” Harry repeats, because he doesn’t understand, he doesn’t understand how Louis can just come here and offer things like this, be so kind and supportive when Harry doesn’t deserve it, _any_ of it. “I fucked up and I hurt you and— why are you _here_? Why aren’t you _angry_?”

“I was,” Louis admits without any hesitance, his voice still calm. “I was hurt and angry and I didn’t want to see you ever again.” The words aren’t surprising, but that doesn’t mean they hurt any less. “But it was four years ago, Harry. A lot has changed and sometimes you just… you need to let go of your past if you want to start something new.”

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry I—“

“Harry, I _really_ didn’t come here to make you feel bad,” Louis interrupts him. Harry bites his lip and has to blink a few times to get rid of the tears starting to slowly cloud his vision. “We’ll talk about this, just— not now. Now we both need to just get some more sleep. Give me your phone.”

“You could stay here,” Harry offers quietly as he hands Louis his phone, but he doesn’t expect Louis to agree.

Louis finishes typing his number into Harry’s phone and gives it back, his lips curling into a small smile. “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he says, and his voice is nothing but kind. Harry swallows and nods. “You should ask me again after Liam and Niall arrive, okay? Maybe I could stay then.”

Harry nods again. Louis stands up.

“Text me,” Louis reminds him, picking up his bag.

“I will. And— thanks. Thank you.”

“Of course, H. I’ll see you later.”

When the door closes behind him, Harry leans against it for a minute, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. He considers calling him mum or Gemma, but he’s not sure if he can talk about what’s just happened. Maybe he needs a bit more time.

He decides to take Louis’ advice instead and goes upstairs, falls into his bed. As soon as his head hits the pillow, the exhaustion crashes into him in full force, and this time it doesn’t take long to fall asleep.  

~*~

He wakes up to the sound of his phone ringing. 

He thinks about ignoring it, burying his face in the pillow and letting sleep take over again; he can’t exactly remember his dream but he knows it was a nice one, the feeling of warmth and softness still right here, just slightly out of his reach, brushing across his fingertips but not enough to grasp properly. There’s a part of him, though, that hopes it’s maybe Louis calling, and once that thought enters his brain, it doesn’t let go. He sighs and rolls over onto his back, rubs his eye with one hand, while the other one reaches towards the bedside table. He grabs his phone and squints at the too bright screen. 

It’s not Louis, of course. Come to think of it, Louis probably doesn’t even have Harry’s number, just like he didn’t have Louis’ until mere hours ago. He wonders why Louis didn’t ask for his in return — maybe it was his way of putting the control of the situation in Harry’s hands, letting him choose the pace of... well, whatever it is that’s happening between them. 

He accepts the call and presses the phone to his ear, sits up. 

“Hi, Kate,” he greets her, clears his throat. His eyelids still feel heavy.

“Hi, H,” she says. He can hear the sound of rustling paper in the background, and he knows she’s probably looking through some documents or her notes or sorting something else out; the past few weeks have been exceptionally busy for her, and Harry constantly feels the need to apologise for that. When he did, though, she just looked at him in a way that made him snap his mouth shut, and then she invited him for coffee and that was the end of that. “I’m just calling to ask about the pap thing. Should I make some arrangements for tomorrow or would you prefer to have more time?”

“And here I was, thinking you were calling just to chat to me,” he replies, attempting to cover the slight feeling of panic in his chest with humour. She’s already dealing with so much, all the time, and he hates worrying her. “Don’t you love me anymore?”

“During my working hours, no, I don’t.”

“Your entire life is your working hours,” he mutters, but he can’t quite cover up the guilty notes in his voice. Before Kate can address any of that, he hurries to add, “Would waiting a few more days be okay? I don’t want to make things more complicated,” and bites his bottom lip. 

“Harry,” she says, her voice firm, “this is about _you_. Yes, there are some things you have to do, because of who you are, but we don’t want to make you miserable. We want this to be as easy for you as possible.” 

Harry swallows, looks down at the duvet pooled in his lap. “A couple more days then, please.”

“Very well.” He can almost see her nod and the satisfied smile pulling at the corners of her lips. “Shall I come over with some groceries?”

Harry wonders what's the possibility of someone recognising him in the store and stopping him to get a picture. It's probably pretty slim, but he doesn't really want to risk it, and he doesn't feel much like going out at all today in general. He could always order groceries online, but if Kate’s offering…

“I could make us some dinner,” he suggests, because maybe her company would pull him out of his thoughts and do him so good. “Vegetarian lasagne?” he adds, just to give himself some extra points.

"You don’t have to bribe me, Styles.” She sighs, but he can clearly hear the smile in her voice. “Send me a list of what you need and I should be there in about two hours.”

He glances at the clock. It’s already four in the afternoon. 

“I  _need_ to finish this today,” she says, almost like she can hear what he’s thinking. 

“I’m not saying anything,” he replies, and rolls his eyes at the grumbled  _but you’re bloody well thinking it_. “I just don’t want you to overwork yourself.”

“I want you to know that I’m rolling my eyes right now,” she informs him. After a second she continues, her voice softer, “I’m fine, H. Everything will calm down soon.”

His mind goes back to this morning, to Louis at his doorstep, in the kitchen, on the couch. To the tightness in his chest and the paralysing feeling of both wanting to make everything okay and being too scared to do a fucking thing, in case it’s a wrong one. He thinks that perhaps there’s still a long way before things start to calm down. 

“Yeah. Yeah, it will,” he still says, and hopes it sounds convincing enough. “See you soon, K.”

When the call ends, Harry just stares at his phone for a second, contemplating his options. After a moment, he thinks _fuck it_ , clicks on the _Louis Tomlinson_ in his contacts and opens a new text message, starts typing.

_Breakfast tomorrow? H. x_

He doesn’t let himself think about it too much, just presses  _send_ , and watches as the _delivered_ sign appears. Before he has a chance to start regretting it and coming up with all the reasons as to why this is a terrible idea, his phone buzzes in his hand. 

_just give me the time and I’ll be there. :) xx_

Harry carefully types out  _10?_  and lets out a long breath when he gets the confirmation that it works for Louis. Then he flops back down on his bed, buries his face in the pillow, and wonders what the fuck he’s supposed to do. 

~*~

Something flashes across Kate’s face as soon as she steps inside, but she quickly covers it up with a smile and an enthusiastic greeting. Harry doesn’t ask, just lets her press a kiss to his cheek and follows behind as she heads towards the kitchen, puts the bags filled with groceries on the counter. Harry’s asked for just enough to last him the next two or three days, in case he needs another push to actually go out and face whatever’s waiting for him out there. 

“They didn’t have blueberries,” she announces, already starting to unpack everything. “I also bought some more coffee because the one you drink is awful.” She scrunches up her nose. 

“No one else ever complains, Kate,” he points out, though he knows it’s a lost cause — they’ve had this conversations too many times to count. She doesn’t even grace him with an answer, just shoots him a look which successfully shuts him up. 

As she proceeds to tell him about her day and her sister’s pregnancy, Harry starts preparing dinner. He can’t help it when his mind wanders to his morning again, and he thinks about the same situation, just with Louis at the table. The difference is stark; he feels comfortable around Kate in a way that he’s not with many people, in the way that he _used_ to be with Louis. Now instead of the easy understanding and comfort, there are too many unsaid words and too much time between them, and Harry doesn’t know how to change that. If there is a way to change that. 

 _Louis showed up here for a reason_ , the stupid, hopeful part of his brain insists.  _He seems to believe that maybe there is._

Harry knows he’s distracted; he notices the few times Kate narrows her eyes at him and watches him carefully, and he knows it’s only a matter of time before she says something. He asks her questions and asks for more details, but once they sit down to eat and he misses a question of her own  _again_ , she sets her fork down and turns towards him.

“Alright, what’s the matter with you?” she demands, crossing her arms over her chest. Harry stares at his plate resolutely and doesn’t meet her eyes. 

“What do you mean?” He knows he’s not fooling anyone. She can always tell when he’s lying or trying to hide something, and maybe it’s one of the reasons why they work so well together, both professionally and as friends. 

“Harry, don’t bullshit me. Just spit it out.” Her voice is firm, but there’s a soft edge to it. For a second Harry considers just being stubborn and pretending he has no idea what she’s talking about, but eventually he sighs and tentatively looks up. Maybe it’ll do him some good to talk about this before Louis comes over tomorrow. 

“Louis was here this morning,” he says and it still feels a bit surreal. “He—”

“Wait, hold up,” she interrupts him, her eyes wide. “Louis? As in, Louis Tomlinson? Your ex-bandmate, ex-boyfriend? _That_ Louis?”

Something inside Harry’s chest tightens and he looks away again. “Yes, that Louis.” It comes out harsher than he intended; he sets his jaw and keeps stubbornly staring at the table.

 _Ex-boyfriend_. God, he doesn’t think he’s ever called Louis that. Well, for one, it’s not like there were many people who needed an explanation, who knew about them being together in the first place; he thinks that perhaps with time that would have changed, even if the general public still wouldn’t have been allowed to know, but there’s no point in wondering about that now. Another thing is that it never seemed adequate — Louis was so many things for him, meant so much, that reducing him to just Harry’s ‘ex-boyfriend’ never felt right. 

Kate puts her hand over Harry’s. “Sorry, love, I was just surprised. Go on, please.”

Harry swallows and moves the food around on his plate as he speaks. “He showed up at like eight in the morning and nearly gave me a fucking anxiety attack.” Kate makes a sympathetic noise. “And he just— he  _hugged_ me. He was holding me while I was crying all over him, and then he stayed for breakfast and—” He stops, letting go of the fork; it lands of the plate with a clang, and Harry runs his hand down his face. 

“And what?” Kate prompts gently, squeezing his hand. 

“And nothing.” Harry shrugs. “He left. Said he doesn’t want to make me uncomfortable and make things harder for me. Left his number and told me to text him anytime.”

“And did he?” Kate asks.

“Did he what?”

“Make you uncomfortable,” she clarifies.

When he looks up, he can’t read anything from her eyes. She’s just watching him patiently, waiting for an answer. 

“No. Yes. I don’t know.” He frowns, frustrated. He doesn’t know how to put into words the way he feels around Louis, the way everything mixes together and leaves him anxious and confused. “It’s just— I don’t know how to act around him. I don’t know what I can and can’t say. Or do. He was suddenly here and he was being so  _kind_  when I didn’t deserve any of it and I didn’t want to mess it up, make him leave.” His lips curl into a bitter smile. “Look how that turned out.”

“Don’t,” Kate says sharply, and his head snaps up, surprised. “Don’t say you don’t deserve it. You’re not the same nineteen year old kid you were when you broke up. You’re not even the same twenty-two year old you were the last time you saw each other.”

“That doesn’t change the fact that I fucked up and hurt him,” Harry mutters.

“No, it doesn’t,” Kate agrees. “But all of that hurt you, too. And you’ve grown up and learned from your mistakes and he’s here, isn’t he?” When the only answer she gets is Harry pressing his lips into a thin line and not saying anything, she continues, “Harry, you can’t turn back time—”

Suddenly, Harry decides he doesn’t want to discuss this _at all_.

“Can we stop talking about this, please?” he asks, moving his hand away. “I’ll be fine,” he declares and turns the telly on, goes back to his food, determined to change the subject. “When’s Eve visiting again?”

Kate just looks at him for a few more seconds and then sighs, picks up her fork again. Harry knows she has more to say, but he just— he can’t. There’s too much and it’s too complicated, and the only person he owes his words and explanations to is Louis. The thought of talking about everything that’s happened is absolutely fucking terrifying, but he knows he’ll have to do that eventually if he wants the thing between them to maybe turn into anything more than just a separate event that’ll never happen again.

For now, though, for now he wants to talk to his friend about nothing in particular and then, hopefully, he’ll get some decent night sleep and won’t feel quite this awful and tired in the morning.

He has a guest coming for breakfast, after all. 

~*~

When Louis shows up the next morning, breakfast is almost ready, and Harry does his best to greet him with a smile despite the anxiety clawing at his chest and all his insecurities raising to the surface all at once. He knows Louis notices, but he also returns Harry’s smile with one of his own and doesn’t mention it. 

“How was your meeting yesterday?” Harry asks, handing Louis his tea. Louis takes a sip and hums appreciatively, before setting it down on the table and shrugging. 

“It was alright. We didn’t do much, just kinda caught up with each other. I’m going there again today,” he explains, watching as Harry sets down their plates. 

“Scrambled eggs, halloumi, mashed avocado, beans, toast, spinach, tomatoes, hummus,” Harry recites as he takes a seat next to Louis. He turns the telly on but lowers the volume, so it’s just a quiet noise in the background and doesn’t interrupt their conversation. “Were the girls there? From the group you told me about?”

“Years later and you’re still trying to convince me to eat spinach.” Louis sighs, but he’s smiling, and Harry’s stomach turns. He’s not sure why; it’s not like he was expecting Louis not to bring up their past at all. There’s something, though, about Louis mentioning it so casually, that makes Harry feel a little off-balance, think about all their little arguments about various foods, that usually ended with Louis rolling his eyes and eating, or at least trying, whatever it was anyways, and Harry grinning and snogging him afterwards.

Not the best thing to think about right now, then.

“Spinach is good for you,” he replies automatically and Louis just shakes his head a little, amused. Harry wishes he could take a look inside Louis’ head and find out what he’s thinking, feeling. Figure out how Louis expects him to act, what’s too much and what’s not enough. 

There’s always been something about Louis that made Harry react stronger to him than to anyone else; something challenging and something that’s always brought out the most in him, even if the most didn’t always mean the best.

“There are things other than  _leaves_ that are good for you,” Louis argues good-naturedly, but he still starts eating, and before Harry has any chance to reply, he continues, ”I did see the girls, yeah. I have to say, their excitement is very contagious.”

Harry smiles. It’s easy to remember the joy they’ve all felt at the beginning, when getting a chance to follow their dreams felt like the best thing ever, before the reality came crashing through. 

This is different, though. They’re different. 

“Well, it’s a good thing they have you to make sure the excitement stays in place,” Harry says and he thinks there’s a flash of surprise in Louis’ eyes before they soften slightly.

“I’ll certainly do my best.” 

They eat in silence for a moment and Harry hates how much he keeps overthinking every question he comes up with. Eventually one works its way out of Harry’s throat. 

“How’s Lottie?”

They’ve seen each other over the past four years — he found out that Lottie works in LA sometimes and they bumped into each other now and again. She was always friendly enough and carefully polite; it was far from the friendship they’ve built up over the years, even with everything that’s happened between Louis and Harry while the band was still together, and Harry was left wondering just how much she knew about everything that took place afterwards. Louis was always close with his family, and out of all his siblings, Lottie was the one he spent the most time with, talked to about things. She knew about their relationship and the break-up, but Harry wasn’t sure if Louis told her about the situation from four years ago. Liam and Niall still don’t know what happened that night; they’d tried to ask for months afterwards, when it’d become obvious Louis and Harry weren’t speaking to each other and started avoiding each other instead, but eventually they gave up and accepted things as they were. The only people Harry told were Gemma and Kate. 

“She’s good,” Louis answers and the love in his voice is impossible to miss. “Everything’s working out for her and I don’t think I’ve ever seen her so happy before. The engagement has a lot do to with it, probably,” he adds, fondly amused.

Harry chokes on his tea. 

“The  _engagement_?”

“Yeah.” Louis nods. “She’s getting married next year. Mum said she never expected Lottie to beat me to it.” He’s still smiling, but Harry can see his defensive walls coming up, knows there’s something else there, something Louis isn’t saying. He doesn’t ask, though, doesn’t push — it’s not his place. 

“Well, that’s definitely something I didn’t expect.” He shakes his head. “Gemma still goes on and on about how it’s just a piece of paper and she doesn’t see a point in getting married.”

“Gemma has many very strong opinions,” Louis agrees, “I’d say it’s a big part of her charm.” 

“You two keep in touch, right?” Harry asks, though he already knows the answer. Gemma mentioned Louis a few times over time; they’d hit it off as soon as they’d met, and their relationship’s always been strong. She told Harry upfront that she wasn’t going to give up their friendship because of Harry’s choices and mistakes, that she was his sister and she loved him, but Louis was one of her best friends and she loved him, too. It was easy to understand in theory, even if it did take a bit of time to fully come to terms with it.

“We do,” Louis nods. “I saw her a bit over a week ago, at Nick’s.”

This time Harry flinches slightly and looks away, pretends he didn’t. Unlike the friendship with Gemma, the one between Louis and Nick came as a complete surprise to him. They always liked each other enough, even if they did show it by making fun of each other and arguing most of the time, but for some reason Harry used to think most of it was because they were both friends with _him_. So when he saw the pictures of Nick and Louis walking Pig for the first time, he couldn’t help but feel hurt. He and Nick are— well, still friends, at least Harry hopes so, but it’s complicated, and the fact that they live on different continents and in different time zones doesn’t help; they both have their own stuff going on, so occasional conversations are as good as it gets. And then Louis suddenly seemed to become a very consistent, very big part of Nick’s life, and it hurt. Felt like a slap to the face, like losing two of the most important people in his life at once, all over again. 

“Harry?” Louis is watching him, looking slightly worried and confused, and Harry realises he’s been quiet for too long.

He clears his throat. “Right, well. Give Lottie my congratulations, please, and let her know that I’m very happy for both of them.”

“I will,” Louis answers, keeps looking at Harry for a few more seconds before turning back to his food. With every bite he takes, Harry’s worries that he’ll leave not long afterwards keep getting bigger and bigger, jumping around Harry’s brain and setting him on edge again. 

Maybe Louis can tell or maybe Harry shouldn’t have expected him to just up and leave in the first place, but as soon as he’s done with his food, Louis turns to Harry and asks, “Could I have more tea?”, and it’s like at least some weight’s been lifted off Harry’s shoulder. 

He makes to stand up. “Yeah, I’ll—”

“Don’t worry,” Louis stops him, taking both his plate and his mug in his hands. “I can make it myself. Unless... well, unless you don’t want me to?” There’s the flash of uncertainty again. The sign that even though Louis is calm and collected most of the time, this whole situation is new and complicated for him as well. It calms Harry down a bit, knowing he’s not the only one.

“Feel free,” he replies, gesturing towards the kitchen. Louis smiles and disappears in the other room, and Harry lets his own smile slip from his face, as he takes a breath and slowly lets it out. 

He’s not sure what he’s doing. He knows, though, that he’s willing to figure it out, if it means that, at some point, Louis can be comfortable enough in Harry’s home to wander around and go through Harry’s cupboards and make his own tea without asking. 

~*~

They spend the rest of the morning talking quietly. Louis tells him more about his job and mum and siblings (“I try to go home or get them to come to London as often as I can,” he admits. “Especially the youngest ones. I don’t want them to grow up and only know their brother as someone they see on the telly and the laptop or phone screen once in a while.”), and Harry talks about his songwriting and acting and Ed and Kate. He says he thinks Louis would get along with her really well, and Louis smiles and replies that maybe they’ll have a chance to find out.

After some time, the silence settles between them, and it’s the first one that actually feels comfortable, even though Harry’s brain still refuses to shut off. They quietly follow the episode of some series neither of them have ever seen before, with a few comments squeezed in here and there.

“Do you believe in that?” Harry asks, when one of the main characters starts talking about his past and how much he’s changed since then. “Do you believe in change?”

“Perhaps,” Louis says slowly, like he’s picking his words carefully. Harry turns around to face him, and it takes every bit of his courage not to immediately tear his eyes away when he finds Louis already looking back at him. “I do believe people can grow up and learn.”

“What about the past, though?” Harry inquires quietly. Louis is watching him, patiently and curiously, and it makes Harry’s chest feel tight.

“You can’t turn back time,” Louis replies, and the corner of Harry’s lips quirks up slightly as he remembers Kate saying the same thing to him the day before.

"Does that mean you can’t fix things?” Harry presses, pushing through the wave of anxiety, the way his throat seems to close up as he speaks. He breaks his resolve to keep the eye contact, looks down and starts picking at the thread coming out of the seams of his jeans. 

He’s met with silence and for a moment the only sound filling the room is the low rumble of the telly and their breathing. 

“Harry...” Louis starts and the hesitance is clear in his voice.

“Hypothetically,” Harry adds quickly, trying to calm down the erratic pounding of his heart. He can tell that Louis is looking at him and it makes him feel vulnerable and exposed, because it’s obvious what Harry’s talking about, isn’t it?  _You’ll have to talk to him eventually_ , the little voice inside his mind says, but he does his best to ignore it. He knows. He _does_. He just needs... something. More time. “I’m just asking... hypothetically.”

When he glances up at Louis, there’s a small smile tugging at the corners of Louis’ lips, and something in his eyes Harry can’t read, but which tugs at his heart and fills him with a little bit of warmth nonetheless. 

“Well,  _hypothetically_ , I’d say you can,” Louis replies. “Not always, mind. I do, however, believe you cannot judge someone for the rest of their life for the mistakes they made when they were young.”

Harry takes a deep breath and then slowly lets it out. He lifts his head and meets Louis’ eyes again. 

“Do you think they could—” Harry stops, swallows dryly; Louis tilts his head to the side, silently urging him to go on. “Do you think they could forgive that someone, then? At some point?” 

Louis just looks at him for a moment, quiet, contemplating. "I think maybe, in some ways, they already have,” he says finally, his voice soft. 

It’s Harry’s chance, he knows it is. It’s a chance to go from  _they_ to  _you_ , from  _someone_ to  _me_ , from hypothetical scenarios to explanations and apologies. He’s no longer the nineteen year old kid, scared of loving another boy, of keeping a huge secret, uncertain and worried, having people tell him that he’s making a mistake, that he’s too young, that there’s a whole world out there for him to see and experience. It’s his turn to take a chance, to allow himself to try and make things right. 

He opens his mouth to speak, but he knows the words won’t come. He feels annoyed and frustrated, because he wants Louis to know how sorry he is, that he’s never meant to hurt him. That the last thing he ever wanted was to hurt him. Saying it out loud, though, having to talk about everything that’s happened, is proving itself to be more difficult than he first thought. 

He just nods and stands up instead, and his throat seizes up at the small, understanding smile Louis sends his way. There’s an edge to it, something that suggest that maybe Louis isn’t as calm and sure of himself as he presents himself to be, and Harry hates that he might be hurting him again.

He wants to say that Louis deserves better, that they shouldn’t be here, just sitting in his house together, like nothing’s wrong, like Harry didn’t fuck up a chance at something good, something beautiful, because he got too caught up in everything and lost his grip on the one thing he should’ve kept close. 

Perhaps it’s selfish of him, that he doesn’t say any of that, but he thinks he’s always been selfish when it came to Louis. He thinks maybe some things don’t change, even when everything else does. 

“Do you want more tea?” he asks, and for a second he thinks Louis might say something, but then he seems to shake himself out of it and he just nods, hands Harry his empty mug.

As Harry waits for the kettle to boil and then prepares Louis’ tea the same way he’s learned to almost ten years ago, he thinks, _yeah_. Some things don’t ever change.

~*~

The exhaustion doesn’t leave Harry over the next two days, but he finds himself filled with nervous energy in the mornings as he waits for Louis to arrive. They continue having breakfasts together, and the conversations start coming easier, but they still thread through the topics carefully — they talk about their families and their work, but they’re careful about mentioning things from their shared past. Or, at least, Harry is; Louis seems comfortable with throwing in some comments here and there, and Harry doesn’t know if he’ll ever get used to Louis mentioning their past and relationship so casually, without any bite or sadness or bitterness to it. He finds that it leaves him feeling a bit wrong-footed, uncertain of how to react. Normally, he considers himself good with people — he’s been deemed charming more times than he could possibly count, and he knows he’s good at reading people, picking up on their moods and reacting to them accordingly. But with just one look, Louis somehow manages to make him feel sixteen all over again, unsure and worried about what people will think, desperate to prove himself. 

It’s starting to drive him a bit crazy. 

“I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing,” he tells Kate. She’s been listening to him ramble on for the past however many minutes, watching him through the laptop screen, her face unreadable. Once Harry falls silent, though, she sighs and closes her notebook, leans a bit closer. 

“You’re not going to like what I have to say, but I’m going to say it anyway and you’re going to listen to me,” she informs him and he tenses slightly, gives her a wary nod. “Darling, you can’t do this to yourself. It’s not fair to either one of you. The situation between you was never resolved and you can’t just go on pretending that there’s nothing wrong. It’ll end badly and someone’s going to end up hurt again. You need to either have an honest talk or stop whatever it is between you two before you get in too deep.”

A bit of worry breaks through the calm expression on her face and Harry looks away from the screen. It seems a bit ridiculous now that there was a point in Harry’s life when he thought he had it all figured out, when the thought of Louis was reduced to more of a dull ache than the fierce burning in his chest it causes now. “I just— I’ve missed him, K.”

“Of course you have,” she says softly. “He used to be one of the most important people in your life. And maybe he can still be a part of it. But not like this.”

“What am I supposed to do, then?” Harry asks, notes of frustration lacing his voice. “Do you expect me to just be like ‘oh, hey, by the way, do you maybe fancy having a chat about our break-up? Or maybe about that time I acted like a fucking coward and fucked off before you woke up, after we slept together again?’. Because that’s a very pleasant topic to go along with our breakfast, isn’t it?”

“Of course it’s not going to be fucking pleasant, Harry. It’s going to be hard and probably frustrating and painful, but how do you expect to have any sort of healthy relationship with him if you don’t know how to talk to him?”

“We talk,” he protests. Kate clenches her jaw and looks like she’s gearing herself up to say something, but after a moment she seems to deflate and she lets out a long breath. 

“I’m not going to argue with you over this,” she says quietly. “I have work to finish and then I need to pick up Alex from the airport.” 

Harry sits up straight. “That’s today?” he asks and when Kate nods, he groans and hides his face in his hands. “I’m sorry, it completely slipped my mind.”

“It’s alright. You have quite enough on your mind at the moment without keeping track of my life.” 

“I’m friends with both of you, I should’ve remembered.” He shakes his head. “I’ll come over sometime, okay? And I’ll bring the best wine I can find.” 

Kate smiles. “I still don’t think you’ll be able to top the one you bought after Alex came back from Barcelona.” 

Harry waves his hand dismissively. “I’ll think of something.”

Kate just looks at him in amusement for a moment before her expression sobers slightly. “Harry, about Louis— just be careful, all right? This has the potential to end in a disaster and I wouldn’t wish that for either one of you.”

Harry bites his lip, nods. He knows Kate’s right; he knows they have to talk. It’s just easier said than done, and no matter what the responsible, rational side of Harry’s brain says, there’s always that little part that insists he should just accept whatever Louis offers, without risking losing everything again.

He pushes a smile on his face. “Say hi to Alex from me and I’ll see you both soon.” 

“I will. Bye, love.” 

He stays where he is long after the call disconnects, lost in thought. 

~*~

“Alright, are you going to tell me what’s going on today?” Louis asks the next day as they’re sitting quietly side by side on the sofa. When Louis had finished eating earlier, he’d asked if Harry was okay with him answering some work-related e-mails and Harry had given him the go ahead, reaching for his own journal. He’s been struggling to write for far too long for it to sit comfortably with him, but his focus is nowhere to be found, and there are so many emotions swirling through him that he’s not sure where to start. The storm of feelings that’s been raging inside him for the past weeks seems to have turned into a complete chaos once Louis was added to the mix. After talking to Kate yesterday, Harry found some of his old journals and spent way too much time just staring at them, before putting one of them on the bedside table instead of returning it to the box and hiding it at the back of his wardrobe with the rest of the things he’s tried to forget are there. He didn’t dare look inside, not quite yet, but he’s sure it’s just a matter of time before he does, and for now he tries not to think about the things he’ll find there. About the love and hope and fear he poured all over those pages and how many of them are about the same person who’s now sitting right next to him, watching him with worry etched on his face.

“It’s nothing,” Harry replies automatically, but when Louis just keeps looking at him, he sighs and closes the journal, runs his hand through his hair. “I’m supposed to go shopping today.”

“Okay,” Louis says slowly, “go on.”

“I— that’s all. I’m supposed to go grocery shopping and get papped and show people I’m not hiding away in my house and regretting my decision to come out. And I…” Harry looks away for a second, takes a deep breath before meeting Louis’ eyes again. “Did you see the video?”

From the way Louis’ expression hardens, Harry assumes he doesn’t have to explain which one he means. Louis nods once, sharply, and one corner of Harry’s lips curls up into a faint smile.

“It’s not like it was the first time I had that word thrown at me, but it just…” He shrugs. He’s not sure how to explain the way it made him feel, the way it felt different somehow, now that he’s officially out and everyone knows. He doesn’t know how to explain that his mind always seems to get stuck on that moment, playing it on a loop in his head, when he thinks about going out again.

But maybe he doesn’t have to explain that. Not to Louis, not when he’s looking at Harry like he is right now, in the way that makes Harry’s heart beat faster, makes all of his guilt and regret squeeze his chest tightly.

“Would you like me to go with you?” Louis asks. Harry opens his mouth to reply and then closes it again when no words come out. He thinks he should perhaps start getting used to Louis surprising him and rendering him speechless.

“I can’t possibly ask you to—“

“Of course you can,” Louis interrupts before Harry can finish. “If you think that would make this whole thing easier for you, all you have to do is say a word, and I’ll go with you.”

“You do realise that the whole purpose of it is to be papped, right? And that when people see us together, they’ll run with it? If you didn’t want anyone to know you’re here…” Harry trails off awkwardly. He feels a bit stupid as soon as the words leave his mouth, but he doesn’t back out, doesn’t look away from Louis.

Louis looks right back, surprised.

“Harry, I—“ He starts but doesn’t finish, just looks at Harry for a few seconds, searching for something in Harry’s eyes, before the corner of his lips quirks up into a tired half-smile. “There really is a lot we need to talk about, isn’t there?” he asks but it sounds like he’s speaking more to himself than Harry, and he doesn’t wait for a response. Instead he continues, his voice firm, “Harry, I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want to see you. I wouldn’t offer to go with you if I had something against people knowing we’re spending time together. I’m not ashamed to be seen with you and I don’t care what they write about us. Most of the press is full of crap anyway. So, really, it’s up to you. If you want me to go, I will. And I’ll tell people to piss off if I need to.” He adds the last sentence after a slight pause, almost on second thought, and his voice suggests he’s joking but there’s something in his eyes that tells Harry he actually would do that in a heartbeat if he thought it was necessary.

Harry’s heart burns and aches and if he hasn’t already made a decision about talking to Louis, it would be right here in front of him right now. Louis deserves his honesty and an apology, and if he can show up at Harry’s doorstep offering his support, even after everything, then Harry can make sure he will do his best not to give Louis reasons to regret that decision.

“I don’t—God,” he chokes out, and it comes out like a half-laugh, half-sob. He rubs one of his eyes and takes another deep breath. He desperately wants to curl into Louis’ side and seek comfort from his touch, but he doesn’t know how to ask, if he has the right to ask for such thing at all.

“Call Kate,” Louis suggest gently, apparently aware of Harry feeling too overwhelmed to think properly. “Ask whether it’s okay if you’re seen with someone else, and whether it changes something if that person is me.”

Harry just stands there for a moment, and then he thinks _fuck it all to hell_ , and he pulls Louis into a fleeting but tight hug. “Thank you,” he whispers, his voice thick with emotion, and when he steps back and smiles shakily, Louis smiles back.

~*~

Kate doesn’t raise any concerns when Harry asks; her voice and words are completely professional, merely telling him to make sure Louis is aware of the consequences it might cause, and giving him all the details about the arrangements she made.

It doesn’t change the fact that Harry can clearly hear the underlying worry in her voice. 

She hesitates before ending the call. 

“I’ve already told you to be careful, H,” she says quietly and Harry instantly knows she’s speaking more as a friend than anything else. “But are you sure this is a good idea? You know people will speculate. There’s always been a lot of rumours about the two of you. Being seen together right after your coming out might create a certain… impression. Just— are you sure?”

“No,” Harry answers truthfully. Kate’s still the only person he’s told about Louis being here; even his mum doesn’t know, though she’s made sure to talk to him every day. He doesn’t know why he hasn’t told her yet. He’ll have to now, if he doesn’t want her to find out online and have a go at him for keeping something like that a secret. “I’m not really sure about anything at the moment, K. But I want this.”

“Alright,” Kate readily agrees. “I’ll make some phone calls straight away and make sure that the mock-up of the article is ready so the finished thing can go up anytime,” she assures him, and her voice acquires a bit of a teasing edge to it when she adds, “The only thing you need to worry about is looking pretty.”

Harry smiles.

~*~

The guy is waiting for them as they pull up in the parking lot and he seems nice enough; he nods at them in greeting and offers a smile before setting off to work and taking pictures as soon as they step out of the car. Harry can feel a knot slowly forming in his stomach, but he reminds himself that he’s done this a million times before, and he simply does his best to focus on Louis instead of the camera pointing at them. 

Louis easily falls into step beside Harry, and is quick to offer distraction in form of recalling some of the most ridiculous captions he’s seen used for his own pictures. By the time they get to the entrance of the store, Harry feels a lot more at ease, and he has to bite his lip to stop himself from laughing. 

“Alright, what do we need again?” Louis asks, and Harry looks down on his phone to pull up the list they’ve quickly made before leaving the house, after Harry quietly asked whether shopping together means Louis would be staying for dinner. (”Sure,” Louis said easily. “How do you feel about curry?”)

“Two red onions, one red chilli, three sweet potatoes, eight tomatoes, spinach, a tin of chickpeas and coconut milk,” Harry recites. “That’s for dinner. And I’ll just pick up some other bits and pieces as we go along.” 

Despite Harry’s slight nervousness about the whole thing, the actual shopping is easy and fun; the only time they stop in one of the aisles for a bit longer than necessary is when they argue about which cake they should get. Louis spots one he likes and insists they have it for dessert, while Harry automatically picks up the one he always gets. Eventually, though, Louis looks at him with an over-exaggerated pout on his face, and Harry just sighs and puts both cakes in the trolley.

He doesn’t miss the answering smile on Louis’ face, but he does his best to ignore the way the whole interaction’s made him feel.

“I think I’ll just pop into one of the shops close to my house before Liam and Niall come here, there’s no point in getting everything right now,” Harry decides. “How about I pick the vegetables while you get the chickpeas?”

“On it.”

Harry watches as he disappears down the aisle and then busies himself with his own task. Louis can’t be gone for more than two minutes when there’s a timid voice coming from someone behind Harry.

“Um, excuse me.”

He turns around and sees a young girl looking up at him with a nervous expression on her face. He smiles, even as the thought that this is the first time someone has approached him since he came out registers in his brain, causing his grip on the onion he’s just picked up to tighten slightly.

“Hi,” he greets her and hopes his own anxiety doesn’t show.

“Sorry, I don’t want to bother you…” She starts, uncertain.

“It’s no problem at all,” he assures her. “What’s your name?”

“Carina,” she replies. “It’s just— I just wanted to say— thank you. When my girlfriend and I saw the news... it meant a lot to us. We both love you and seeing— we’re both really proud of you,” she says in a rush, her cheeks flushing slightly.

“I—” Harry tries to find his voice and fails, clears his throat. “Thank you. Please say thank you to your girlfriend as well, and tell her that I hope I’ll have a chance to meet her one day.”

“Actually...” She hesitates for a second, bites her lip. “Would you mind recording a short video for her? It’d make her really happy.”

“Of course, what’s her name?” he asks and Carina grins at him and takes out her phone. It’s been years and he still doesn’t really know what to say in those messages. Carina seems satisfied with the end result, though, so he guesses it’s alright. 

They chat for a bit longer and they’re just saying their goodbyes, Harry stepping forward for a hug, when Louis comes back, holding two tins in his hands. 

“H, which one do you think we should get? You didn’t— oh, hello.” If he’s startled, he doesn’t show it; he instantly smiles at Carina, who in turn looks at him wide-eyed before glancing between the two of them, and finally letting out a laugh. 

“Well, fuck,” she says, shaking her head, “this is definitely not how I expected my day going. My girlfriend will piss her pants when I tell her about this. Could I take a picture with both of you?”

Harry automatically looks at Louis, wanting to leave the decision up to him, before remembering that they’ve already had their pictures taken today, and that if Louis didn’t want people to know they were together, he wouldn’t be standing here, relaxed and smiling. 

“You really want to rub it in, don’t you?” Louis teases, and Carina just shrugs and grins, unabashed. “C’mon then.”

He moves to pose for the picture. As Harry joins them and smiles at the camera, he realises where the weird feeling inside him comes from — he’s pretty sure the last time they’d taken a picture with a fan like this was back in 2012, and that seems like a whole lifetime away. They weren’t really supposed to be seen together outside of work afterwards, even if they wanted to.

They are now. There’s absolutely nothing stopping them — they can walk down the street together and have articles written about them, and they will, without any negative consequences, without backlash from their teams, without having to do things to cover it up. He knew that, of course, he talked to Kate about it no longer than an hour ago, but somehow it hasn’t fully registered in his brain until now.

It’s a startling realisation and it leaves Harry feeling slightly off balance.

“Hold onto that picture for a bit before you post it anywhere, alright? Until you see some pictures from today online,” he asks Carina before they part their ways, and she agrees easily, wishes them a good day.

When they’re alone again, Louis helps Harry with the rest of the vegetables; Harry stays quiet for most of it, lost in thought. He notices Louis glancing at him a few times, but he doesn’t speak up about it until they’re heading for the checkout. 

“Are you alright?” he asks quietly. 

“Yeah, sorry, I’m fine,” Harry replies with a half-smile. “I just thought about how many years it’s been since we did something like this.” He shrugs. “Feels a bit weird, doesn’t it?”

Louis hums. “Good weird though, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Harry says, looking at the smile Louis sends his way, “definitely good.”

~*~

Louis’ phone goes off on their way back but he doesn’t say anything about it until they’re in Harry’s kitchen and all the bags are unpacked. 

“I need to take care of something,” he says, holding his phone up. “I should be back around six and I’ll help you with that dinner?”

“I can make it on my own,” Harry offers easily. He likes cooking. He always has but he discovered a new love for it after the band split up and he found himself without any responsibilities and obligations, when for the first time in years he had time to just be at home and relax and, as it turned out, cook. He finds it calming and interesting, and there’s something about deciding whether to follow the recipe or mix things up his own way that Harry enjoys. Kate always teases him that maybe he should take up culinary as his new career adventure, and every time Ed comes to stay with Harry in breaks between performances or when his tour ends, he jokes that it feels like he comes home to a home-cooked meal and a husband. His mum is just happy that he has things he likes, and that she can swap recipes with him, as Gemma is nowhere near as interested in spending time in the kitchen. 

“I’d like to help,” Louis replies. “You’ve been making us breakfast these past few days and my cooking abilities have improved quite a lot over the years, if I say so myself.”

Louis says that with a smile, and Harry replies with one of his own, even as something shifts inside him. There are moments like this, when just one offhand comment makes him realise that he doesn’t know Louis anymore, not really. That he has all those little facts and memories in his head that don’t quite fit the reality anymore. Four years is a long time and every minute he spends with Louis just strengthens the realisation that they’re both different now, that they’ve both done a lot of growing up in the time they spent apart, and maybe even before that, when the distance was not physical but still there. 

“All right,” Harry says. “Six, then?”

Louis nods and says that Harry doesn’t need to walk him out, before throwing a “see you later!” over his shoulder and disappearing from sight. 

Harry stays where he is for a bit longer, takes some deep breaths, thinks about what happened that day, and decides to call his mum. 

It’s late back in England; not late enough for her to be asleep, but enough for the tiredness to slip into her voice and for Harry to know that she’s probably sitting on the couch with a cup of tea and a cat curled in her lap. 

His mother is a creature of habit, he’s learned. 

“Hi, mum,” he greets her, and he walks out into his back garden, takes a seat on the top one of the three little steps there. The sun is warm on his skin.

“Hi, darling.” He smiles at the sound of her putting her cup on the coffee table. “How are you?”

“I’m good,” he says, just like he has every time she asked. He thinks she doesn’t believe him, not completely at least, but she never says anything about it. She just asks more questions and seems to be able to figure him out even from the other side of the world. She’s great like that. “How was your day?”

He spends some time just listening to her; she had breakfast out in the garden, while it’s still warm enough for that; she called Gemma who promised she’d come up to Cheshire soon, when things at work settle down a bit, because they’re working on some project right now and it feels like there aren’t enough hours in a day; she worked in the garden and talked to someone about another charity thing. He listens and he lets her voice just wash over him, reduce the nervous energy he’s been filled with since he woke up.

“What about you, love?” she finally asks, and Harry inhales and exhales slowly.

“Do you remember when I told you I’ll have to have some pictures taken soon? Just being out and about, shopping and stuff.”

“Was that today?”

“Yes. And— and Louis was with me,” he says. “He’s coming over for dinner later.” 

His mum is silent for a moment. Harry threads his fingers through the grass, focuses on the feeling of it against his skin as he waits for her to reply.

“That’s— I’m not sure what to say,” she admits. “When did that happen?”

“He came here a few days ago. We’ve been having breakfasts together. Talking. He offered to go with me today and I said yes. I asked him to stay for dinner afterwards and he said yes. So we’re having dinner together.” 

“Is he there with you right now?” she asks.

“No,” Harry says. “He had some work thing to take care of but he said he’ll be back later so we can cook together.” 

Talking about it out loud doesn’t seem to make it any easier for Harry to understand. 

Anne seems to hesitate before asking the next question. “Are the two of you— friends?”

No. Yes. Maybe. “I don’t know,” Harry replies truthfully. “I’m not sure what we’re doing.” 

“Harry—”

“There are things— there are things that happened between us which make it hard for me to know how to act around him.” She doesn’t know about what happened between them when they went away, doesn’t know about that night four years ago, but she’s smart enough to realise it’s not just about their break-up. They were still around each other for a while after that, and maybe things weren’t the best, but they worked. And then everything just... stopped. “Kate says we should talk about it before someone gets hurt. Again.”

“Kate’s an intelligent woman,” Anne says and Harry knows it’s her way of agreeing with her without outright saying so.  

“Yeah.” He nods and the corner of his lips turns up. “Yes, she is.” 

~*~

When the doorbell rings, Harry’s writing. He looks up from the notebook, startled, and notices it’s already five to six. 

He lets Louis in, and they walk back into the kitchen. Louis regards the open notebook with interest, but he doesn’t ask, and Harry doesn’t say anything; he just closes it and leaves it on the shelf in the living room, hoping to leave all the thoughts he spilled all over those pages along with it. 

“So, what do you need me to do?” Louis asks. He’s already washed his hands and he’s leaning against one of the counters. 

Harry pulls up the recipe they found before and reads it again, then passes his phone to Louis. “You could start with chopping the chilli and sweet potatoes, while I prepare the pan, onions and ginger.” 

They set to work and it’s— different. When they used to cook together in the past, they were kids who didn’t really have any idea what they were doing — Harry fancied himself as a good cook, and he was quite decent if still inexperienced, while Louis was completely clueless. His ‘help’ back then mostly consisted of running commentary and distracting Harry, which, to be honest, wasn’t a big challenge, and more often than not they tended to let themselves forget about cooking for a bit in favour of kissing. 

Things are different now, and they’re different, but they work well together. Louis didn’t exaggerate when he said his skills improved — it’s clear that he knows what he’s talking about, and together (after checking Harry’s cupboards for different ingredients) they decide to tweak some things in the recipe. 

They work well together, but not perfectly; they don’t move seamlessly around each other and they end up bumping into each other a few times, not used to each other’s presence. A couple times Louis asks where he can find something he needs, and at one point Harry messes up and spills some water on the floor, because he’s laughing at one of Louis’ stories instead of paying proper attention to what he’s doing. 

But it’s fun and it’s nice, and Harry lets himself turn his brain off for a bit, push the worries to the back of his mind, and let himself enjoy the moment. 

The food turns out delicious and they might be older now, but they still high-five over a job well done. 

~*~

“Can I ask you a question?” Louis asks later, after both of their plates have already been cleaned and they’ve started a second bottle of wine. Even before Harry opens his mouth to reply, he rolls his eyes and adds, “Yes, I know that technically I already have.”

Harry smiles. He’s feeling the pleasant buzz from all the wine they’ve been drinking and it makes it easier to nod, say, “Sure.”

“Why now?” Louis asks. Harry raises one of his eyebrows in a silent inquiry. “Why did you decide to come out now? Was there any specific reason?”

Harry hums thoughtfully, gives himself a bit more time by taking another sip of the wine. Louis doesn’t push, waits patiently for Harry to gather his thoughts. 

“I think... I think I just felt ready,” Harry starts, thinking about the weeks he spent pondering whether he’s making the right decision, whether it’s time. “It took me a while to come to terms with my sexuality, to accept that I won’t suddenly meet this special girl that will make me want to settle down with her, because I’m just not attracted to women, full stop.”

It had been a startling, scary realisation at the time. Harry had been aware that he wasn’t straight for a long time — he knew that what he felt for Louis was real and meant something, and it wasn’t the hardest part to accept. The most difficult part was accepting that even though the thought of ending up with a boy was a terrifying one, ultimately that’s what he wanted. That’s who he was, and telling himself he was bisexual wouldn’t change anything because he just simply wasn’t interested in women. 

“It took me even longer to decide to come out. I was happy with who I was, but I didn’t really think about publicly coming out until this year. I realised I was tired of pretending and holding myself back. I realised things were different now, that it’s been years since the band broke up, that I had a team that actually cared about me and had my best interest in mind.” He hesitates for a second before adding, “I was really jealous, you know. After you came out.”

“How so?”

“You were always so unapologetically yourself. You knew who you were and you were proud of it, no matter how much anyone tried to change or stifle you. I always admired you for that. You just— you were always so strong. I— _we_ always looked up to you. There was a reason we considered you a leader.”

“It was hard for me, too,” Louis says. “It was hard for all of us, if for different reasons. We all had things we had to deal with.”

“Of course it was hard. That’s the thing, though. No matter how hard it was, you never gave up the fight. You never let them win.”

“I— Thank you,” Louis says softly.

“I felt so proud of you when I found out. There was a part of me that was envious and a smaller one that maybe felt a bit hurt that I didn’t know before — which was no one else’s fault but my own — but most of all I felt proud. Because you did win in the end, didn’t you? You never gave up on trying to get everything others wanted to take away from you.”

Louis looks at a loss for words for a second and Harry watches him swallow, take a steadying breath. “Gemma relayed your message,” he says finally. 

After the news broke, Harry didn’t have Louis’ working phone number anymore and he asked Gemma to tell him what he’s saying himself right now — that Harry was proud of him and wished him nothing but happiness. It didn’t quite feel like enough, but Harry didn’t know what else he could do in a situation they were in.

“I know I never replied properly,” Louis continues, “but it truly meant a lot to me, so thank you.”

“Was it...” Harry pauses, unsure whether the question he’s about to ask is an appropriate one. Louis just smiles at him encouragingly, though, so he goes on, “Was your decision somewhat influenced by your relationship?”

“Yes and no,” Louis replies. “Yes in the sense that I didn’t want to hide the person I was with. I wanted to hold his hand in the street without worrying that someone will take a picture. I wanted to take him to events with me and thank him in my speeches. I wanted to write songs about my own experiences without hiding what they were really about. Maybe if he wasn’t with me, I would have waited a bit longer, but maybe not.” He shrugs. “In the end, I did it for myself. I waited for that moment for a long time.”

Harry nods. He thinks it’s probably the wine that makes him ask the next question, or at least gives him the courage to. 

“Did you ever wonder how things would have turned out if we’d stayed together?”

“I used to,” Louis says slowly, carefully. “I think everything would be very different, but I also learned not to dwell on what if’s.” 

“It was never about not loving you enough, you know that, right?” Harry asks quietly, staring resolutely into his wine glass. “I loved you so much it terrified me.” 

He’s met with silence. When it stretches out long enough to make him fidget, he glances up at Louis and forces himself to keep looking even when their eyes meet. 

“You were always a forever kind of thing, you know? That’s what it felt like. We were kids and we were talking about spending the rest of our lives together. And it scared me. It terrified me how clearly I could see my future with another boy, with you.” He lets out a shaky breath and lets himself close his eyes for a second before he continues, “You were my first relationship. You were a lot of my firsts and I thought— I thought maybe I should experience more before settling down with someone. There were people telling us we had the whole world at our feet, that being in a serious relationship, and a closeted one at that, while we were so young, was stupid and hard and not worth it. And I think I got a bit lost in all of that.” 

“Harry, it wasn’t only your fault,” Louis says. When Harry makes a protesting sound in the back of his throat and opens his mouth to reply, Louis holds up his hand. “No, listen to me. We were young. Young relationships fall apart even without all the extra pressure we had to deal with. We were overworked and under scrutiny from everyone around us, pushed into a world we had no idea about and expected to just deal with it on our own. There were people telling us to keep our distance whenever we were in public and a lot of different factors that led to our relationship falling apart. You can’t put all the blame on yourself, H.”

“I know. I know that. I was the one who ended things, though,” Harry points out, swallowing past the lump in his throat. He’s heard all those things before, from his mum and Kate, but coming from Louis, they’re different. 

“In the end, yes, you were the one who made that decision.” Louis nods. “I’m not going to sit here and lie to you and tell you that it was nothing. I was in love with you and you broke my heart,” he says and it’s not like Harry didn’t know that already, but hearing Louis state that so frankly makes his eyes burn, causes guilt to squeeze his chest tightly, even so many years later. “We were both at fault, though. We both did stupid things and said things we shouldn’t have. And it was years ago, Harry. We managed to work with each other for the next few years just fine.”

“It just felt like it was never resolved. We never talked about it and I didn’t want you to think I didn’t— I was in love with you, too. I never regretted any of that. I had a lot of things I had to figure out but that’s— that’s not an excuse. I still hurt you and I’m sorry.”

“You’re right, we never explicitly said anything about it, but I never wanted you to keep blaming yourself. I came to terms with that a long time ago.”

He watches Louis refill his glass and thinks, _well, in for a penny, in for a pound_. “I spent a long time thinking about a simple answer I could give you that would explain what happened the last time we saw each other,” he says quietly and tries not to falter when Louis’ eyes snap up to watch him carefully. He wonders if Louis is thinking about that week four years ago just like Harry is. About them finally deciding that the ‘lads holiday’ they’d been going on and on about in interviews needed to actually happen, about the gorgeous hotel and constant sunshine and wonderful beaches, about the four of them spending every waking moment together and feeling lighter than they had in a long time.

He wonders if Louis is thinking about their last night there and having too many drinks, about their lips meeting in a messy, desperate kiss, about the feeling of _need_ and _want_ so overwhelming he had no idea how they made it back to Louis’ hotel room. He thinks about how, in that moment, it seemed like there was nothing more important than getting their hands on each other, making each other feel good. He wonders if it felt so right and easy for Louis, too. So intoxicating.

He wonders if Louis is thinking about the next morning and waking up to an empty bed and finding out Harry had already left, without as much as a goodbye.

He blinks a few times and clears his throat. “I thought about it and I don’t think there is one. It felt like we spent more time together during that week than we had over the entire year before that. We were celebrating and reminiscing and drunk off our fucking faces and it was— it was so easy with you. It was so easy to fall back into what we used to have and I didn’t know how to face you in the morning. I was afraid of hurting you again and I was afraid you’d say it was nothing, just too much alcohol and too many memories mixing together. I think… I think I just panicked. I spent the entire flight home thinking about it and I talked to Gemma and I— I tried to call you, afterwards. I wanted to apologise, wanted to, I don’t know. Do something. Anything. But you never picked up the phone and when Liam and Niall came here for the first time after that and you weren’t with them, the message was pretty clear.” 

“You were afraid of hurting me or finding out that it didn’t mean anything to me, so you thought that the best way to deal with it was to fuck off and let me wake up to an empty bed, and what? I was somehow supposed to come up with a different explanation than thinking you were the one who regretted it?” Louis asks and his words are harsh but his voice isn’t. Harry still flinches, feeling ashamed.

“I— God, I didn’t really think at all. I’m sorry. I really am.” 

Louis is quiet for a moment, contemplating. When he speaks again, his voice is slightly softer, and his words make Harry’s throat close up. “Do you think that maybe it’s not as much about me forgiving you as it is about you forgiving yourself?”

“What do you mean?” Harry asks quietly.

“I don’t need your apology, Harry. Thank you for saying that, but I don’t. I was hurt and angry at first, and maybe most of all embarrassed, feeling stupid that I just fell back into bed with you so easily. And I let myself feel all of those things, and then I let go of them. I let go of the past and made a life for myself. I came out, I had a boyfriend I loved and whose hand I could hold in public, I found a career I genuinely enjoy and am good at. And I’ve already forgiven you. I know things weren’t easy for you, and it’s not an excuse, but I can understand it now. We both still had a bit of growing up to do.”

“I thought you’d either completely ignore me or hate me if we ever met again. I never imagined—this.”

“I never hated you. There are many things I’ve felt for you over the course of my life, but hatred was never on that list.”

“I don’t— Christ, I don’t understand. I don’t understand how you can just sit here and say all those things. I feel like I’d feel better if you yelled at me.”

“Do you remember your ‘hypothetical’ question? Do you remember when I told you I can’t hold the mistakes someone made when they were young against them for the rest of their life?”

“Yes, but—“

“Harry, we were _kids_ when we broke up. I don’t care how much the rest of the world expected you to act like an adult, how grown up we all felt back then, you were still a teenager, and we were both responsible for what happened. And it’s not like we promised each other anything before we slept together again. That’s all it was. Sex. I’m not trying to diminish what happened or make excuses for you — I know my worth and I wouldn’t forgive someone if I didn’t think they deserved it. This isn’t me saying I trust you and everything is perfect. This is me saying I’m not angry with you for what happened years ago, and I’m letting the past stay in the past.”

They’re both quiet for a moment, Harry thinking about Louis’ words, Louis watching him. Finally, Harry asks, “Do you think you could, at some point? Trust me again?”

“I don’t know,” Louis says, and at least he’s honest. “But we have time to find out.”

Harry nods. That’s more than he thought he would get.

“Sometimes— sometimes I was glad that you did leave,” Louis admits quietly, and Harry’s eyes meet his, surprised. “That’s why I never answered the phone. Why I completely cut myself off.” Louis pauses and Harry holds his breath, watches as Louis looks away and picks up his glass, swirls the wine around. “You said— it really did feel easy, didn’t it? To be together, to just give in and let ourselves have this thing again? I can’t speak for you and your feelings, but you said it felt like things between us were never properly resolved and— and for me, it felt like there was still something between us, like we— like I never properly let go, not while we were still around each other all the time. I don’t know what would have happened if you’d stayed, if we’d woken up together and looked at everything in the light of the morning, with our heads feeling clearer than they had the night before. Maybe nothing. Or maybe we’d have tried to turn it into something more, into another chance of sorts, and I don’t think we were in a good place for that, either of us. I felt like I needed to distance myself so I could move on.”

Harry swallows, nods. He’d thought a lot about it at first; about waking up next to Louis again, feeling his warm, naked skin against his own; about what would have happened if he’d waited for Louis to wake up and meet his eyes, about what he would have seen in them; about being torn between never wanting to move and being too scared to stay.

“We both needed to figure ourselves out outside of… _us_ and outside of the band, I suppose,” Louis finishes and drains his glass in one go.

“Did you? Figure yourself out?” Harry asks and Louis looks up at him, a small smile curling at the corners of his lips.

“It’s an ongoing process,” he says.

Harry has so many questions he wants to ask; there are so many things he wants to know about Louis’ life, about what happened during Harry’s absence in it, but he thinks tonight is not the time for that. He hopes he’ll still have a chance to find out.

“I’m going to make us some tea,” he offers quietly after a moment and slips out to the kitchen. He feels like he’s drunk more fucking tea this week than he has in a long time and he thinks that it’s perhaps some weird kind of metaphor for his life — his mum does always say that tea is the best solution for everything, and Harry could use a few of those right now.

As he waits for the kettle to boil, he rests his palms on one of the counters, focuses on the feeling of the flat, smooth surface under his fingers, and breathes.

~*~

They don’t finish the second bottle of wine — Harry doesn’t particularly fancy the thought of getting too drunk to be able to bite his tongue, and blurting out something he shouldn’t, and Louis is in the middle of his second glass when he glances at the clock and declares it’s time for him to get back to his place.

Harry offers him the guest room again, but it’s more out of habit than anything else, and he isn’t surprised when Louis politely declines. He thinks they both might need a bit of space after the conversation they’ve had, and besides, Liam and Niall are arriving tomorrow — or today, considering that it’s nearing two in the morning — and Louis has already promised he’d come by and possibly stay the night along with both of them.

After watching Louis climb into the backseat of the car that came to pick him up, Harry retreats back inside and closes the door, heads to the living room. He stares at the mess of plates and cutlery and mugs and wine glasses they’ve left behind and sighs. He’s tired, both physically and emotionally, and even though he wasn’t drunk to begin with and his head feels clearer already, there’s still a bit of a buzz there that leaves him feeling languid, and he can still taste the slight bitterness of the wine on his tongue. There’s nothing he wants more right now than just go to bed, but he knows that leaving it until the morning is a terrible idea, so he carefully makes his way through the pillows scattered over the floor and picks up all of the tableware, carrying it back to the kitchen and loading the dishwasher.

He considers calling Gemma; he doesn’t know whether Louis told her anything or if she’s already talked to mum, but he does know that he should let her know what’s going on. More than that, he wants to — there aren’t many things they don’t talk to each other about, and she’s that kind of person who doesn’t take anyone’s bullshit and always manages to make Harry pull his head out of his arse and stop being a fucking idiot.

“Tomorrow,” he promises himself, like maybe saying it out loud will somehow compel him to actually go along with it. He tells himself he just doesn’t want to bother her at work when he’s too tired to have a proper conversation anyway. Instead, he drags himself upstairs and, lacking the energy to do anything more than pull off his clothes, he falls into bed.

He has a feeling that there’s a long day waiting for him.

~*~

When he wakes up, he immediately regrets not brushing his teeth before falling asleep — his mouth feels absolutely rank, and he grimaces as he heaves himself out of bed and heads to the bathroom. As he goes about his morning routine, trying to make himself somewhat presentable, he can hear his phone going off a few times, but he decides to ignore it for now. He’s not sure when the article was supposed to be up; he knows he’ll have to face the reactions sooner or later, but he decides he’s fine with it being the latter.

He just really wishes his personal life was in fact personal, and that his coming out wasn’t such a huge fucking deal for people whose life it doesn’t affect in any way whatsoever. He knows the situation is already better than it was back when he and Louis were sat down and told why having two gay band members was a bad idea, and why those two band members being together an even worse one. He’s experienced that change, has been shown so much love and support over the past few weeks, and he’s extremely grateful for that, of course he is. He realises he’s in an immensely privileged position compared to other people. Some parts of it are just hard and frustrating still, and he sometimes can’t help but wish they weren’t.

For a second, as he buttons up his shirt, he looks at his phone lying on the bedside table and considers just leaving it there and going about his day while ignoring the existence of the outside world. It’s just a pipe dream, though — Kate would probably actually kill him if he didn’t pick up her calls, his mum would just end up being worried, and he’s not even sure what time Liam and Niall are getting to LA and should probably text them and ask.

With a sigh that might be a bit more dramatic than necessary, Harry sits down on the bed and unlocks his phone.

He promptly ignores the Twitter app and any notifications he might’ve got from there, sends his mum a message, asks Gemma when she’ll have time to talk, texts both Liam and Niall, and only after that he dives into messages from Kate.

It turns out there are only two — one telling him the article is up, and the other asking him to call her. 

“Morning,” Kate greets him and Harry narrows his eyes at how controlled her voice sounds. A few years ago, he probably wouldn’t have noticed, but they know each other too well for that now. There are situations when he wonders whether that’s a blessing or a curse. 

“It’s your ‘I’m being neutral and professional voice’,” he points out. “Should I be worried?” 

“Do you want my opinion as someone who works for you or as your friend?”

“Both, preferably,” Harry decides. “Do I get to choose between bad and good news?” he asks, pretending that his heart isn’t hammering in his chest. He feels a bit ridiculous about it — it’s just a simple article, one that’s been carefully crafted and approved by his own team, people who care about his image, Kate herself included. It’s nothing that hasn’t been done countless times before, nothing he should be worrying about, at least not as much as he is.

He thinks about the pictures, and he thinks about Louis, and swallows hard.

Kate sighs. “As your manager, I’m very happy with most of the reactions and the publicity you’re getting from this. As your friend, I’m worried about what you’re getting yourself into.” 

Harry makes a quiet sound in the back of his throat. “If I find out, I’ll let you know,” he promises.

“Harry—” Kate starts but cuts herself off, stays silent for a second. Harry fiddles with the ring on one of his fingers and waits. “Look, try not to worry too much, okay? Let yourself enjoy your time with the boys and call me if you need anything. It’ll calm down soon enough, you know how that stuff works.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I do, ” Harry says. They’ll just find someone else to focus on, and it’ll be another person’s life under scrutiny instead of his own, torn to pieces and thoroughly analysed. He’s not sure if that makes him feel any better. He hastens to change the subject. “Anyway, tell me about your dinner with Alex. How’s the reunion going?”

“Harry, I have actual work to do,” Kate protests, but it’s weak, and Harry knows it’s just for show. He falls back onto his bed and stares at the ceiling as Kate recalls their evening, back together after too many days spent on different sides of the world. Harry knows that three weeks can feel like forever and a half sometimes, how missing someone can cause you actual physical pain and make everything seem a little more bleak; he knows. He hums in all the right places and asks all the appropriate questions, makes plans to see both of them soon, all while doing his best to ignore the weird feeling squeezing his chest. 

~*~

Liam is the first to arrive. As soon as he steps inside, he reaches out and tugs Harry into a hug.

“Proud of you,” he murmurs. Harry sags a little against him, and smiles into his shoulder when he feels Liam’s arms tighten around him for a moment before he lets go. “It’s good to see you, mate.”

Harry makes him coffee and asks about his flight and about working on his new album, and he lets himself sit back and forget about everything else for a bit, focus on Liam’s voice and the comforting presence of someone who understands Harry’s life in ways not many other people do. 

If someone asked Harry to explain his relationship with Liam and Niall, he doesn’t think he could give them a satisfying answer, put it into words well enough for it to make sense to other people. There’s something about this surreal, bizarre experience they’ve gone through together that he doesn’t think anyone else could ever understand; something that comes from the journey they’ve taken and no one else has lived through, not the same way they have; something that binds them together still so many years later, even when all of them have their separate lives and careers to focus on. 

There’s also Louis, of course, but Harry reckons that's a whole separate story on its own.

“So, is Louis joining us this time?” Liam finally asks during a lull in the conversation, and his voice is casual, but the way he's watching Harry is anything but. Harry looks away for a second, down at the almost empty mug cradled between both of his hands, before meeting Liam’s eyes again. 

“Have you seen the article, then?” he asks, smiling faintly. He’s glad, in a way; he’s spent some time wondering how to broach the subject of Louis but came up empty. 

“It was pretty hard to miss,” Liam admits. “Is he? Coming here?”

“I think so.” Harry nods. “At least that’s what he said last night.”

Liam raises one of his eyebrows, questions written all over his face. Harry holds his gaze steadily and waits for him to actually ask one out loud.

Liam sighs. “Is either of you going to tell me the truth if I ask what’s going on between you? Where did this come from?”

Harry finishes his coffee and stands up, heads to the sink. “If Louis gives you an answer, let me know, will you? Could make everything a lot easier.”

“Harry—“

“Look, Liam,” Harry interrupts before Liam has a chance to say anything else. He doesn’t want to have this conversation, and especially not now, when Louis and Niall could show up at any moment. He leans against the counter and runs his fingers through his hair, lets out a breath. “He came to see me, okay? He just— he knows what it’s like, he’s been through this. We talked and we explained some things and— I don’t have any answers for you. I don’t even have them for myself yet, alright? It’s just. It’s good to have him here but it’s also... strange. It’s fucking weird, and I feel like there are two different versions of me playing tug of war, the one who loved Louis and the one who doesn’t even really know him anymore. It’s like I don’t know who I’m supposed to be around him,” he finishes in a rush.

“Just be yourself,” Liam says softly, and Harry snorts, because it’s such a _Liam_ thing to say. Liam acknowledges the reaction with a smile. “I know how that sounds but, honestly, Harry, I don’t think I’ve ever known two other people who seemed to just click as well as you and Louis have. And yes, you both have grown up and changed, but even now you’ll sometimes say something that will instantly make me think about a conversation I had with Louis before, or the other way around. I don’t know what happened between you, but you were always friends before you were anything else, weren’t you? And Louis wouldn’t show up here if he held something against you. He’s just not that kind of person, never has been. He’s not afraid to cut ties with people if he has reasons to do so.”

Harry knows that, of course he does; he’s experienced it firsthand, after all.

“Kate says this has the potential to end in a disaster,” Harry says, but it’s not an argument, not really. It’s just a statement; a simple truth.

“Of course it does,” Liam replies easily. “All the good things in life do. I guess it all comes down to deciding whether they’re worth it or not.” _You need to decide whether Louis is worth the risk_ , is what Liam doesn’t say out loud.

Harry hears it nonetheless.

~*~

It’s funny, Harry thinks, how easy it is to see now that Louis has been holding back around him, even though he seemed so at ease, calm and open and comfortable. There’s just something about the way he is with Niall and Liam, about the banter and the teasing and the inside jokes, off-hand references to different parts of their lives, mentions of moments Harry has no idea about, that makes him realise just how much he’s missed. They’re comfortable around each other in a way you can only be with people who you’ve known for ages, who’ve stayed with you through thick and thin. And even though Harry knows his place when it comes to Liam and Niall, he’s not part of _this_.

Sometimes Harry wonders whether his fear of missing opportunities and experiences is also what has deprived him of a few of them in the first place.

He quietly sneaks out to the kitchen during one of Niall’s stories. He’s sitting at the table, scrolling through Twitter, when Louis walks in, an empty mug in his hand.

Louis smiles when their eyes meet.

“Everything alright?” he asks, leaving the mug in the sink. He sprawls on the chair next to Harry’s; he’s wearing soft trackies and a loose tee, his hair still ruffled after Niall reached out and tousled it at some point, his expression open and unguarded.

Harry’s stomach churns and he makes himself look away.

“Yeah,” he says, clears his throat. “It’s just…” He trails off, shrugs. He’s not sure how to explain it, the mix of emotions unfolding in his chest and taking up too much space. Louis still nods, like he knows exactly what Harry means.

“A bit unnerving, innit?” He looks back towards the lounge, the murmur of Liam and Niall’s conversation barely audible, before his eyes land on the phone in Harry’s hands. “The article was nice,” he says, making Harry glance at the screen again. There’s a tweet from some person, a fan he assumes, talking about _the way they look at each other, dear god_ , with one of the pictures from yesterday attached to it. They’re both smiling in it, and Harry’s tried to remember what they were talking about when it was taken.

He closes the app.

“I think we’re trending,” he tells Louis, and he would laugh if he didn’t feel quite so unsettled.

The corner of Louis’ lips curls up. “Not surprised,” he replies. “People did always have a lot of strong feelings about our relationship, didn’t they?”

“Larry Stylinson,” Harry muses and the words taste weird on his tongue. There are videos showing him falling in love with his best friend, out there on the internet for everyone to see; there was a point in Harry’s life when he didn’t know how to look at Louis or touch him without giving everything away, no matter how subtle and sneaky he thought he was being.

He thinks they might have broken a few other hearts along with each other’s.

“The fanfictions are writing themselves,” Louis chuckles, fondly exasperated. Over the years, Harry has worked with many different artists, and most of them had immense amounts of appreciation and love for their fans. There's something special about the connection Louis has with the fanbase, though, about how deeply grateful he feels for every single person supporting him. Harry’s seen it during their One Direction days, and he thinks it’s probably only got better since then, without all the other bullshit surrounding it.

“It’s funny,” Harry says, at first not even aware that he’s speaking out loud, “that people will look at those pictures and come up with their own stories behind them. That the same picture will be interpreted completely differently by different people.”

Louis hums. “That’s the beauty of it, isn’t it? It’s like writing a song — we could start with the same sentence or theme or melody, and our end results would still be different. Endless possibilities.”

“Maybe someone will get it right.”

“Our fans have always been very observant,” Louis replies. Harry likes that all four of them still refer to fans as _theirs_ , like there’ll always be an _us_ , no matter how much time passes and what happens between them. “Some of them will probably be close enough.”

Harry nods. After a moment, he asks, “Do you think they’ll give us a happy ending? In those stories?” and it comes out sounding a lot more like some kind of a metaphor than he thought it would.

Instead of answering, Louis just smiles, his eyes warm, and stands up. “C’mon,” he says quietly, nodding towards the lounge, “let’s watch a film.”

~*~

At one point, Harry steps into the kitchen to find Liam and Louis standing together, Liam’s hand on Louis’ shoulder. He watches Liam's uneasy expression, and the way Louis shrugs, shakes his head slightly in response to whatever Liam’s said. They fall silent when they notice Harry, but it only lasts a second, and then Liam’s stepping closer and offering to help Harry carry all the plates and cutlery and load the dishwasher, and Louis sends him a smile before calling out to Niall and leaving the two of them alone.

Liam doesn’t mention anything and Harry doesn’t ask, tries not to think about it too much.

They order pizza and watch films and talk, and once three in the morning turns into four, it almost feels like it’s been like this the entire time.

~*~

In the morning, Harry finds the door to the patio wide open and Louis already awake, sitting on the steps, a cigarette in his hand.

Harry leans against the doorframe, folding his arms over his chest.

“Smoking’s really bad for you, you know,” he says quietly, not wanting to startle Louis, who looks up and smiles when he sees Harry. His eyes are still slightly puffy from sleep, his hair falling softly over his forehead without any product in it.

“Never really managed to quit it,” he admits. “Mum hates it. Tries to get me to stop every time I’m home.” He takes another drag. “Good morning.”

“Well, your mum’s right.” Harry’s never been much of a smoker. He tried it once, young and curious what it’s like, and it wasn’t _terrible_ , but he also didn’t really get the point of it. The only time he smokes now is at parties, sometimes, if he gets drunk enough. “You should probably listen to her.”

Louis laughs quietly. “The older I get, the more I realise that she’s right more often than not,” he says. “She sends her love, by the way. Asked to tell you to make sure you’re taking care of yourself.”

Harry looks at him, startled. “I— thank you,” he replies. “Did you call her last night?”

“Yeah, talked to her before going to sleep.” Louis nods. “I think she’s going to see Anne soon.”

It’s weird how life sometimes turns out, Harry thinks, because their sisters kept in touch and their mums have, too, when they themselves ended up with this distance between them, with four years of silence. And yet, somehow here they are now; both at Harry’s house and neither of them saying anything for a moment, just quietly watching as the day slowly starts around them.

Finally, Louis stubs out his cigarette in the ashtray and stands up, passes Harry in the doorway.

“Do you need help with breakfast?” he asks, pausing at the bottom of the stairs.

Harry shakes his head. “No, I’m good. You could try waking Liam and Niall up, though, if you’re heading upstairs.”

Louis heaves a sigh. “Giving me the harder job, I see how it is, Styles,” he complains, but Harry can see the corners of his mouth twitching.

“I believe in you!” Harry calls after him and laughs when Louis just flips him off.

~*~

It gets easier.

He tells a story that makes Louis laugh hard enough he cries, and he jokes and teases, and doesn’t stop himself from reaching out to pinch Louis or slap his hand away when he tries to eat the ingredients while cooking. A couple of times he looks up and finds Niall or Liam just watching them with a smile, and it makes him feel like perhaps things will be okay after all.

He can’t help but think that maybe that’s just how things are between the two of them. He remembers how hard it was to keep working together after they broke up, how awkward and painful and plain terrible it was at times, but he also remembers the smiles they’ve shared, the quiet comments exchanged on stage and in interviews and behind the scenes with no one else around, laughing together about the most stupid things. He remembers learning how to be around Louis without being _with_ Louis. Sometimes he feels like maybe they avoided each other because they didn’t know how to be around each other and not be friends, didn’t know how to be just acquaintances, band mates, when for as long as they’ve known each other, it’s been so much more.

He thinks about the little moments their fans have noticed, about how sure some of them were that Harry and Louis were still close, still in a relationship. He thinks that love is hard and complicated, and can be fucked up and hurt sometimes. He thinks that there’s a part of him that’ll always love Louis, one way or another.

After another four days, Liam has to leave. He has breakfast with them and hugs them goodbye, makes some work-related plans with Louis, and tells Harry he’ll be back in LA in a week or two. Harry offers to take him to the airport, because he feels like they never see each other enough, and the past days have somehow slipped through his fingers. Liam just smiles and presses a kiss to his cheek.

“I’ll be back soon enough,” he promises. He glances towards the kitchen, and when he sees that both Niall and Louis are still there and out of the earshot, he quietly adds, “I’m glad you and Louis are working things out. Keep me updated on what’s going on with everything, alright? And I know I’ve said this already, but I really am proud of you.”

Harry swallows and nods, darts in for another hug. And if he holds on for a bit longer than necessary, no one but them has to know.

~*~

Niall falls asleep on the sofa during one of the films that night. Louis grabs a blanket from the backrest and drapes it over him, and then takes his pack of cigarettes and heads to the garden.

After a second of hesitation, Harry follows him. Louis is leaving tomorrow, going back home to London, and there's this feeling clawing at Harry's chest, desperate though it's hiding beneath the surface, because he doesn’t know what happens next, when both of them go back to their lives and leave the bubble that has somehow grown around them over the past days behind.

“I can almost hear you think, you know.”

Louis’ sitting on the steps again, leaning back, his hands flat on the ground, his face turned towards the sky, like he’s hoping that maybe he’ll catch a glimpse of the stars even amidst all the city lights.

Harry sits down next to him, their shoulders almost touching.

“Could you tell me?” Harry asks softly, careful not to break the quiet, calm atmosphere that’s settled between them. Louis looks at him then, his head cocked to the side, waiting for Harry to specify what he means. “About your coming out?”

They’ve already talked about it a little bit, in passing, in reference to Harry’s situation. He hasn’t heard the full story yet, though, and he thinks that maybe now he could.

Louis does — he tells Harry about the first time he’d properly thought about it, realised he could, about the first conversation with his team, and the plans, and decisions, and everything that followed, about his feelings throughout the whole process. He mentions his boyfriend — an ex-boyfriend, now — and how important and helpful it was to have him by his side. Talks about the first time he held his hand in public.

“I couldn’t stop looking at the damn pictures,” he laughs, shaking his head in amusement. “Adam had to pry my fingers from the phone and put it away to get me to stop. We went up to Donny on the day the article was published, and mum just kept randomly hugging me the entire day. I caught her crying in the kitchen at one point. She said she was just proud of me.” The look on Louis’ face is one of pure love for his family, and Harry finds himself unable to speak, unable to look away. “I think it had the biggest impact on Lottie, though. We’ve always been very close, and she was aware of what happened between us and how strictly controlled every aspect of our lives was at the time. She’s been a huge support. She’s wonderful, really.”

“I still can’t believe she’s getting married,” Harry says, because that’s easier than saying anything else. “She’s just— she’s so young. She’s your baby sister.”

“She always will be,” Louis replies, smiling. “But she’s also a strong, intelligent young woman who’s set up her own business, and she’s been in a relationship for the past seven years. She knows what she’s doing. And mum’s ecstatic about getting to organise a wedding for her girl.” Louis rolls his eyes, but his voice is fond. “Lots wants to ask Gemma for help.”

“She should,” Harry says. “Gemma will moan and complain about her being too young, but she’ll be secretly very pleased and she’ll do a great job.”

“I know,” Louis agrees. “There’s still time, though. I think I’ve heard something about a late spring wedding.” He nudges Harry’s shoulder with his. “You should expect an invitation soon.”

And Harry hasn’t realised it until now, but it was something he was actually worried about, worried whether Lottie would want him there on such an important day in her life.

He smiles and bumps Louis’ shoulder back, turns his face towards the sky. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, lets it out.

~*~

Harry’s distracted all morning. He keeps glancing at the clock, watching as it gets closer and closer to the time Louis is supposed to leave for the airport.

He’s currently sitting on the sofa, laptop in his lap, trying to reply to some emails. Louis and Niall have gone upstairs around ten minutes ago, probably to say their own goodbyes. Niall’s staying in Los Angeles for a bit longer, and Harry’s glad — it’s always good to have someone else in the house.

He looks up from the screen when he hears steps getting closer. Niall pauses to give Louis one last hug and disappears into the kitchen, not even attempting to be subtle about leaving Harry and Louis alone. They both crack a smile.

“Have a safe flight, Lou,” Harry says, his voice full of something he can’t describe. “Let me know when you’re back in London, okay?”

“I will,” Louis replies. They both just look at each other for a moment, and then Louis rolls his eyes and steps closer, pulls Harry into a hug. “Don’t be a fucking stranger, alright? Ring me, or text me, or— just keep in touch, let me know what’s going on in your life. Let’s not let this become another four years, yeah?”

“Yeah.” Harry closes his eyes, breathes him in. Louis asked if he could do some of his washing at Harry’s place, and now the jumper he’s wearing smells of Harry’s washing powder, and it does stupid things to Harry’s chest. “I— Thank you. For coming here and for— everything.”

Louis takes a step back, but he leaves his hand resting gently on Harry’s hip, and the touch feels familiar, even after everything. They both grew up and grew apart, but his hand still fits there perfectly, just like it always has. “Of course, H,” he replies softly. His lips quirk up into a small smile. “You know that question about our fans you had? About giving us a happy ending?”

Harry tilts his head to the side, doesn’t take his eyes off Louis. “Yeah?”

“I think they’re going to try their hardest to make us get there.”

Harry laughs at that. “You know those communication issues we used to have in the past? Maybe we should stop talking in metaphors half the damn time.”

“Hey, we’re songwriters, we’re great at metaphors,” Louis says and grins, punches Harry’s shoulder lightly. “Honestly, though— we’ll be fine, yeah? I’ll text you as soon as I’m off the plane.”

“I’ll be waiting,” Harry replies and, after a moment of hesitation, hugs Louis again. He’s bad at goodbyes, always has been; he thinks that it perhaps says something about him as a person. When he steps back, he smiles a little self-deprecatingly. “Go, before your driver starts cursing us and you miss your plane.” _Before I think about doing something ridiculous like asking you to stay._   

Louis laughs and picks up his bag. He shouts one more goodbye to Niall, offers one more smile to Harry, and leaves.

Harry leans against the wall and thinks about everything that’s happened in the past weeks, and then he joins Niall in the kitchen.

“Let’s get blackout fucking drunk tonight, Niall,” he says.

Niall grins.

~*~

Harry throws himself into work.

He goes to the studio and writes, looks through his old journals one night after too many thoughts of what if’s and almost’s. There are some half-written songs that make his eyes sting with tears he doesn’t let fall, others which he picks to touch up and possibly do something with — bittersweet and honest, telling stories not many people know about. There are also ones that he gently traces with his fingers and leaves as they are, songs about hope and taking chances and falling, about fears so strong they’re exhilarating, love so deep it swallows you whole. Memories and treasures and moments turned into words, ones that are just for him, not for the rest of the world to hear and analyse. They seem like too much almost, too private, more like a diary entry than something to be played on the radio, sung in front of a crowd.

He rewrites the ones he chose and shows them to Niall, asks what he thinks. Niall pauses at some parts, obviously aware who they were written about, but he doesn’t say anything, doesn’t ask. They spend three nights in a row working on them, swapping suggestions and ideas, and humming melodies that have yet to exist. Harry even squeezes one Skype session with Liam into the mix, and by the end of the process he’s absolutely exhausted, running on barely any sleep, but he also feels happy and excited, in a way he hasn’t in quite some time, not since he finished his last project. There are four songs pretty much ready to go, even if he’s not yet sure what exactly he wants to do with them.

“Have you finally decided to release a solo album?” Kate asks a few days later when she and Alex come over for dinner. She’s watching Harry with that sharp, calculating look she gets every time they discuss plans and business, and he fidgets.

“I don’t know,” he admits, because it’s never been something he was interested in to the extent the media presented, the kind of person they made him out to be. He was happy to step back at first, get an actual break and time away from everything, and then he was happy with acting and writing, and staying behind the scenes when it came to music, occasionally featuring on other people’s songs and releasing singles. Now, though, now he doesn’t know. “It’s just— they feel personal, y’know? I don’t know how I feel about someone else singing them.”

Kate takes one last look at the pages in her hands and then sets them down on the table. “They’re very good, Harry,” she says. “You don’t have to make any decisions now, but I do think you should at least consider it. People would love new music from you, you know that. And I know you miss performing.”

Harry shrugs, nods. “Could finally use the male pronouns,” he says lightly, and just the thought of that makes his throat feel tight. Kate’s face softens slightly. 

“You very much could,” she replies and reaches out to squeeze Harry’s hand. He smiles.

“What do _you_ think?” he asks, throwing one of the cushions in Alex’s direction. She looks up from her phone and tosses it back.  

“I think you should go for it, you know that,” she says. “I’ve been nagging you about solo music ever since I heard your singles and some of the songs you wrote for other people. I’m not the one in this relationship who knows shit about how it all works, but even I know that people would be interested. I can offer you a fancy photoshoot to go along with it. One picture of you in a big sweater with your hair in a bun, smiling sweetly at the camera, and another one with only leather pants and a collar on, eh? That’s our Harry.” She smirks. “Or maybe you want to ditch the pants too, this time?”

Harry groans, but the knot in his stomach loosens slightly. “I still don’t know why Kate married you. There are so many lovely women out there.”

“And men,” Kate chips in, watching them with amusement.

“And men,” Harry repeats, nodding. “And everyone who identifies differently. So many people to choose from, and somehow she ended up with the most annoying person in the universe.”

“Wait, I thought she married me, not you?” Alex sticks out her tongue at him. “Also, she clearly has good taste and you don’t know what you’re talking about. Darling,” she looks at Kate, barely keeping a straight face, “how does it feel to be a lesbian now that you’re married to a woman?”

“I hate you,” Kate replies, clearly trying to fight off a smile and failing. “I’m married to you for your cat and good taste in wine. And so I have someone to take nice pictures of me.”

“I can’t believe my entire career as a photographer led me to this very moment,” Alex says dryly, mock offended. As Harry sits back and listens to them bicker back and forth, he thinks about their breakup that Kate told him about, about all the difficult and hard times the two of them have gone through and stayed together throughout, and he wonders.

~*~

The Skype conversations become a routine.

Somehow over the next few weeks, Harry gets into a habit of having at least half an hour each day to talk to Louis, even if it’s about the most bizarre things. Harry tells him about the mug he spotted in a shop and thought about buying for his mum for Christmas, even though it’s not even December yet; Louis shows him a drawing he got from Doris and proudly put on his fridge, and talks about teaching both of the younger twins to play football; Harry muses about maybe trying out for another acting role, because he misses the atmosphere and the whole process of filming, and he likes the character, and Louis listens patiently and offers his opinion, advice, and encouragement. Two days after that, Louis talks about his new collaboration, and he’s so happy about it, Harry doesn’t stop smiling for the rest of the day. At one point they spend two and a half hours just watching the same film at the same time, on different continents but both lying on their sofas, offering quiet commentary and sharing amused looks.

It’s later that month when Louis asks.

“Do you think,” he starts, and Harry looks up from his journal to see him lounging comfortably on his bed, not even looking at Harry, his eyes fixed on the ceiling. His shirt has ridden up slightly, but he doesn’t seem to be bothered by it in any way. He’s an ocean away and yet he’s somehow closer than he’s been in a long time. “Do you think you’ll ever let me hear those songs you’ve been writing?”

Harry shifts on the sofa, tightens his grip on the pen he’s holding. “Dunno,” he says. “How do you know I’m writing songs?”

Louis lolls his head to the side so he’s facing the camera, his eyebrows raised. “What, are you adding an author to your list of careers now? Is this some kind of a tell-all? Should we all be worried?”

Harry rolls his eyes. “Shut up.”

“You could write a book.” Louis shrugs. “You’ve always had a good way with words and too much imagination for your own good sometimes. But no, Liam mentioned it,” Louis clarifies. “He stopped by, said you could pretty much release a whole album at this point.”

Harry snorts. “He’s exaggerating,” he says. “I have around six songs pretty much finished and another three I’m still working on. No idea what I’ll do with them, though, or what happens next.”

“That solo album thing sounds like a good idea,” Louis prods gently. The corner of Harry’s lips turns up into a small smile, and he runs his hand through his hair. It’s getting long again, but it’s in that awkward stage when he considers digging through his wardrobe and looking for the headscarves he used to be so fond of.

“Yeah. I don’t know, I— Yeah. Maybe.” One of the songs he wrote is about realising he’s gay. About learning to accept and love himself, about the struggles and the relief, about being happy with who is. About it being okay. He thinks he would’ve liked to hear that song when he was sixteen. He thinks there is a sixteen year old out there somewhere who would appreciate hearing it now. “I’ve talked about it with Kate, and Liam a bit. They both think I should do it.”

“It’s scary, isn’t it?” Louis asks, his voice quiet. “Putting yourself out there like that. Our words, and thoughts, and emotions, and— knowing people will hear them. Knowing people will form their opinions about, to some extent, your deepest feelings. Some of the best and worst times of your life. It’s scary.”

“Fucking terrifying,” Harry agrees. “I kinda feel like—” He cuts himself off, unsure whether he should continue, unsure of how it’ll come out. He looks away, out the window; it’s still the middle of the day here, but he knows it’s getting late for Louis. Louis’ already told him he has an early morning waiting for him, but when Harry suggested they could talk tomorrow instead, Louis just ignored him and asked about his day.

“Hey,” Louis says softly and waits until Harry meets his eyes again. “Tell me?”

Harry lets out a breath. He reckons if anyone will understand, it’s Louis. “I feel like people will look differently at everything I do now. Because I came out. Maybe that’s stupid and maybe— I just don’t want this to be a _thing_ , you know? I’m gay and I do want to be open and talk about it, but it’s not like— it’s not the only thing about me or the most important one. It’s personal. It’s not what I want people to focus on, not when it comes to my music or my acting or any other career decisions I make. Does that make sense?”

“Of course it does, H,” Louis replies. He moves his hand, and for a second it looks like maybe he wants to reach out, comfort Harry with touch. Harry wishes he could. He wishes Louis was here instead of thousands of miles away. “You don’t owe anyone anything when it comes to your personal life, and it’s frustrating when people think you do. We’ve both been in this industry way too long not to know it’ll happen sometimes, but it won’t only be like that, and that’s something you already know, too. It’s okay to be scared, Harry. It’s okay to be worried, and anxious, and doubting. Just do your best not to let it stop or hinder you.”

“Do you think I should do it?” Harry asks. “What would you do?”

“Our situations are and have always been different,” Louis begins, “and that doesn’t make either of them worse or easier, but it’s not really something you can compare, is it? There’s no doubt in my mind that you could do it, H, but you should only do what feels right for you. Whether it’s releasing an album or not, whether it’s _not yet_ or _not ever_ — as long as you’re happy with your decisions, nothing anyone else might say about them matters.”

 _Right now I just really want to hug you_ , Harry thinks but doesn’t say out loud. He’s not sure when they’ll see each other next; it seems like they’re both too busy to even get a decent amount of sleep, let alone make any not work-related trips.

“When did you become so wise?” Harry asks jokingly, and Louis just rolls his eyes, smiles. “Thanks, Lou,” he says softly. “I really wish—” _I really wish I was there for you when you were going through this._ “I’ll think about it.”

“Good.” Louis nods. “Now play something for me.”

Harry opens his mouth to protest, but then he catches the open, hopeful look on Louis’ face and he reaches for his guitar instead, his heart pounding in his chest.

He clears his throat, doesn’t look at Louis as he starts to sing. He messes up a few times, not having had enough practice, but he gets to the end, and they’re both quiet for a moment, the last note still hanging in the air.

“It’s brilliant, H,” Louis says finally, a bright smile blooming on his face. “You’re brilliant. That one line there, at the end of the chorus, is so fucking powerful, you can hear how much it means to you. I love it.”

Harry smiles, pleased. Having Louis’ approval has always meant a lot; he’s amazing at what he does, of course, and definitely knows what he’s talking about, but more importantly, he’s _Louis_ , and there’s something about him that’s always made Harry want to make him proud, ever since he was sixteen and talked to this random kid in the bathroom, right before his life was forever changed. They’ve both gone through hell and back since that moment, have experienced things they couldn’t have even imagined back then, and yet, here they are now. Somehow, against all odds.

“There’s this one part I still can’t figure out,” Harry starts, and he doesn’t even have to say anything more for Louis to understand, to sit up and lean towards the screen, excited and eager to help.

“Let’s hear it, then, and see what we can do.”

~*~

The next few weeks are incredibly busy for both of them, but Louis takes it to another level entirely. Somehow, amidst all of that, December arrives, and Harry has no idea where the year has gone.

When they finally find the time to Skype, it’s a late Friday evening London time, and Harry’s eager to actually see Louis’ face and hear his voice after nearly a week of only occasional texting. Louis answers the call in his bed, wearing a hoodie at least two sizes too big for him, sniffling and looking like he might fall asleep mid-sentence at any given moment.

“Shit, Lou,” Harry says softly, automatically moving closer to his laptop, barely stopping himself from reaching out and touching the screen. Louis smiles ruefully.

“That bad, huh?” He sounds a bit rough, and Harry watches, worried, as he coughs and tugs a blanket closer to him, wraps it around his shoulders.

“I didn’t know you were sick.”

“I didn’t have time to be sick.” Louis shrugs. Harry wants to grab him by the shoulders and shake him a bit, tell him to stop being a fucking perfectionist, and to look after himself. He knows it’d be slightly hypocritical of him, but he doesn’t care. “I felt fine before. It’s like it all just hit me as soon as I stopped working and got home.”

“Why aren’t you asleep then?” Harry asks, trying to sound stern, but Louis ruins all of his efforts by mumbling something about plans and wanting to talk to Harry. “Lou,” Harry starts, looks at him a bit helplessly. “I’ll still be here when you feel better. Right now you just need some tea and rest. Talking to me can wait.”

Louis sniffles and pouts. “Do you know what I want? Soup. Do you know what I don’t have? _Soup_. That’s a true tragedy.” He rubs one of his eyes. “Nick said he won’t make me soup. You’d make me soup, wouldn’t you?”

Harry does his best to ignore the way Louis mentioning Nick makes him feel. He swallows. “If you were here, I’d make you all the soup. I’d take care of you.” It slips out before he can stop himself, but Louis just smiles at Harry, murmurs, “I know you would,” apparently happy with that response. Harry tries not to think about it too much.

They spend a bit of time talking about the week they’ve had, but it’s obvious that Louis is exhausted, fighting to keep his eyes open, and finally Harry decides it’s time for him to get some rest. Before he can end the call, though, Louis stops him.

“Wait, I have a question. Are you staying in LA for Christmas or are you coming home?”

 _LA is my home_ , Harry thinks automatically, but he doesn’t say that out loud. “I’m not sure,” he answers instead. “Why?”

“Nick’s throwing a New Year’s Eve party and I was thinking maybe you’d like to come,” Louis explains. “I’ll be spending Christmas in Donny, obviously, but I’m back in London on the 26th or 27th, and I thought maybe you’d like to stay here for a few days before the party. I think Niall will be off doing his own thing, but Liam might come, too. It’d be nice, wouldn’t it?”

Harry wonders if Louis knows how he makes him feel sometimes. Like he’s off-balance and about to fall, and not sure if he wants to hold onto something or just let it happen. “It would, yeah,” he replies, his voice quiet. “Does Nick know you’re inviting me?”

“He’s the one who suggested it in the first place.” Louis leans closer to the screen and lowers his voice, like he’s telling a secret. “You didn’t hear it from me, but I think he misses you.”

Harry tries to smile, but he doesn’t know how well that works out. God, he had a whole life in London, friends and places and habits, and now it all feels a bit like it happened to someone else. He doesn’t regret his decision about moving to Los Angeles and trying something else, doing something different; he thinks he needed that to be able to get to this point in his life, to be who he is, to let go of certain parts of his past. There are times, though, moments like this, when he wonders whether he could’ve tried harder, done more to keep a hold on his old life while finding his own place in the world. He still doesn’t know.

“I’m sure he’d deny that in a heartbeat,” Harry says, and it comes out a bit strained. “But if that’s the case, then I better come, right?

“Right,” Louis repeats. He opens his mouth to say something else, but instead he yawns.

“Alright, we can talk about it more later,“ Harry says. “Right now you need to get some sleep and I need to reply to some emails before Kate calls to tell me off.”

“Okay, you do that,” Louis mumbles, his eyes closing as soon as his head hits the pillows. “I’ll call tomorrow, yeah? G’night, H.”

Harry watches as Louis burrows under the blankets, his breathing slowing down, his hair falling softly over his face. It almost feels like he’s getting to see something he shouldn’t have the right to. “Goodnight, Lou,” he murmurs, and ends the call.

He doesn’t stop thinking about it for the rest of the day.

~*~

Kate comes around for their annual decorating of Harry’s house, and is only slightly disappointed when he tells her about his plans to go back to England and that, as a result, going full-out this year isn’t necessary.

“You still need at least a Christmas tree,” she insists. Harry’s learned a long time ago that arguing with her when she sets her mind to something is absolutely useless and simply a waste of time, so he only sighs and lets himself be dragged out of the house.

Kate fusses over every tree Harry suggests, pointing out how it’s _too high_ or _too wide_ or _too uneven, Harry, honestly_. Eventually, he decides it’s better to simply step back and let her take over. After that, it doesn’t take too long until they’re on their way back.

Harry considers himself to be quite excited when it comes to Christmas and all the festive activities that come with it, but he thinks he’d look like a Grinch standing next to Kate. When he comes downstairs, carrying a box filled with Christmas decorations, Kate’s wearing a Christmas jumper, there’s Christmas music filling the room, and she’s going through Harry’s wine collection.

“We should make mulled wine,” she declares as soon as she notices him, apparently finally deciding which bottle she wants. Harry carefully sets the box on the rug.

“Is that the jumper that lights up and plays a Christmas song when you press it?” he asks and watches as Kate grins and, naturally, instantly presses it, singing along. “I hope you use it to annoy the shit out of Alex,” he says once the music stops and Kate laughs.

“She’s more festive than she used to be,” she replies which Harry takes as a confirmation to his question. He used to think that the reason Alex left the whole decoration process to the two of them was her reluctance to join in with the festivity of the season, but later on he realised it was because she considered it a Kate-and-Harry thing, their little tradition. And even though he wouldn’t mind having her here at all, he still appreciates that. “She did threaten to throw it out of the window and divorce me when I turned it on at eight in the morning in attempt to get her out of bed, though.”

Harry shakes his head fondly. “I don’t know how you two put up with each other sometimes,” he says, even though he does know, of course he does. He’s known them for years now, and it’s obvious to anyone who spends more than ten minutes with them that they’re fiercely in love, even if they do decide to show it through a lot of sarcasm, jokes, and stupid arguments about little things. That’s just who they are and it seems to work out pretty well, if all the years of being happily married are anything to go by.

Kate shrugs, smiles innocently. “Good sex.”

Harry snorts; he reckons this is a good place to stop this conversation, before he hears more than he wants to. Kate’s one of those people who don’t seem to have any of the filters that others usually possess. So instead of responding, he reaches into the box he brought and pulls out a Santa’s hat, puts it on Kate’s head.

“Come on,” he says, taking the wine bottle out of her hands, “let’s make that mulled wine and get everything started.”

~*~

They’re in the middle of decorating the tree, when Kate brings it up.

“Are you doing this for him? Going back?”

Harry doesn’t answer immediately. He thinks about it, picks out another bauble out of the box and carefully inspects the tree, looking for a good place to put it. After what feels like a long time, he spots a branch that seems a little too empty and hangs it there. Only then he looks at Kate.

He considers lying and instantly dismisses the idea.

“To some extent, I guess the answer is yes,” he starts and busies himself with choosing another decoration, because it’s easier to get it all out this way. “Would I go there if Louis didn’t show up? No, probably not. Am I doing this _only_ for him or because of him? No, I don’t think so.”

Kate doesn’t reply, silently urging him to elaborate.

“I miss England,” he says finally. “I miss England and I miss spending more time at home and I— I had a life there. Friends, people I cared— _do_ care about. If Louis can come here and— if he can do what he did, despite everything, maybe it’s time for me— sometimes it’s easier to let go of the past than it is to face it, you know? Maybe I don’t want easier anymore.” He pauses, unsure whether the jumble of words that left his mouth makes any sense. Kate seems to think about what he said, but before she can comment on any of it, he adds, “Louis said Nick invited me to his party.”

Kate’s eyes seem to clear a bit with understanding, and when she speaks, her voice is soft.

“Is that what this is about?”

Harry shrugs, refusing to meet her gaze. “It’s not about anything in particular, really,” he insists, because it’s not. It’s a lot of things, parts of his life tangled together in ways he never could have expected. “It’s not like I’m moving there now that Louis is back in my life, it’s not like I spent the past years waiting for him to show up again. We both moved on with our lives. I’m doing my own thing and LA is my home. But England is my home, too, and maybe I needed a reason to go back. A push.” He takes a steadying breath, lets it out. “It’ll make my mum happy."

“I’m not saying it’s a bad idea, Harry,” Kate replies calmly. “I’m not trying to convince you not to go. I’m just asking. You know I worry about you.”

The corners of Harry’s lips flicker into a small smile. “You worry too much,” he tells her and takes a step back to have a proper look at the tree. “Looks good, doesn’t it?”

“Well, we’re brilliant, I don’t know what else you expected.” She smiles at him and picks up some tinsel so she can finish their work. “You miss him, don’t you?” she asks, and Harry knows that this time she doesn’t mean Louis.

"We still talk,” he replies instantly, and he doesn’t even have to glance at her to know the way she’s looking at him.

“Harry.”

He swallows. “He was one of my best friends.”

She hums. “And now he’s one of Louis’.”

Harry looks up at her sharply. “What is that supposed to mean?” He demands. Kate waits until she’s finished with the tinsel to turn towards him and reply.

“It means, how do you feel about that? Are you okay with them being friends?”

Harry feels a very strong urge to look away, but doesn’t. “Why wouldn’t I be okay with that? They’re both adults and I’m not their keeper. They can be friends with whoever they want to be friends with.”

Kate just watches him for a few seconds, and then nods. “Okay.”

Harry stares at her. "Okay?” he repeats, dubious about her giving in so easily. Kate nods again.

“If that’s what you feel, then okay. I don’t have any arguments to that.” She shrugs. “Now, can you lift me up so I can put the star on top or do I need to drag the table all the way over here?”

Harry opens his mouth to reply and then decides against it, closes it again. If she’s offering him an out, he’s going to take it.

“Let’s do this, then.”

~*~

Harry’s mum nearly tears up when he tells her he’ll be home for Christmas.

“It’s like we don’t spend every Christmas together,” he says, trying to smile past the guilt squeezing his throat. _There’s nothing to feel bad about, not really_ , he reminds himself; he made a life for himself and he made his decisions, and it was easier that way, better. “You come to LA all the time, mum. We still have a good time, don’t we?”

“Of course we do, baby,” Anne replies. “It doesn’t matter where we are, as long as we’re together. But it’ll be good to have you home again.”

“Yeah,” Harry says. He thinks about sitting in front of the fire with a mug of hot chocolate or a glass of wine, with a blanket draped over his shoulders and his mum next to him, talking quietly or just watching a film. It’s home and it feels like belonging, and suddenly he aches to be back there already. “I love you, mum. I miss you.”

“I love you too, darling.” Anne smiles, her fingertips briefly touching the screen, her eyes warm. “Always. I can’t wait to hug you.”

“Soon,” Harry promises. “Kate insisted on having a small Christmas party before I leave, so we can exchange gifts properly. She also mentioned something about baking cookies.” He shares an amused look with his mum. “I can’t imagine what she’ll be like once they have kids.”

“It is a good excuse to go a bit over the top,” Anne agrees. “Are they staying in Los Angeles for the holidays, then?”

Harry nods. “Kate was worried about her sister having to travel here, but apparently it’s fine to fly during the second trimester and her doctor didn’t have any objections,” he explains. “And Eve is just happy she doesn’t have to do any work.”

Anne laughs. “Sounds about right.”

They talk some more about Eve’s pregnancy; Anne asks questions and Harry tries to answer to the best of his knowledge, facts, and stories, and reassurances. He loves that his mum is always interested in his friends and cares about them almost as much as he does, and that, at this point, she treats Kate, and by extension Alex and Eve, like family.

“I’m almost done with the blanket for the baby,” she tells him, gesturing towards something off the screen, which Harry assumes are her knitting supplies, and he smiles, his heart feeling warm and light.

Despite all of his doubts and worries, he can’t wait to be home.

~*~

The first thing Harry notices when he gets off the plane is that it’s really fucking cold.

It’s not even like he shouldn’t have been prepared for this — both Louis and Gemma have spent the past few days telling him he’ll definitely feel a drop in the temperature, and he’s sure if they were here right now, they’d both say that it’s his own goddamn fault that his fingers feel like they’re about to fall off.

He doesn’t quite manage to get to Gemma’s flat unnoticed; he stops for one picture with somebody’s mum and another group one, but he doesn’t mind. He smiles and talks to them for a bit, asks about their days and plans, wishes them happy holidays, and parts ways with a hug. He’s fully aware that there are ways for him to travel without anyone else knowing about it, Kate made sure to remind him of that, and at first he thought about it, considered it. Ultimately, he decided there was no point in making it some big secret, and he didn’t care if the news reached Twitter as soon as he set foot in the airport.

Which is, of course, exactly what happens.

“Back for not even an hour and you’re already causing a ruckus on social media,” is what Gemma greets him with, amused.

“Don’t pretend you didn’t miss me,” he shoots back, setting his suitcase and bag down. Once his hands are free, he turns towards her and grins, and she rolls her eyes, but can’t completely fight off the smile pulling at the corners of her lips.

“Maybe a little bit,” she allows, coming closer and hugging him tightly, which he instantly reciprocates. “It is quite good to have you around. Sometimes.”

Harry huffs out a laugh. “Love you too, Gem.”

“Come on,” she says, catching his hand and tugging him towards the living room. “There’s still time before we have to start driving to mum’s. I’m gonna make tea and you’re going to tell me everything.”

“Coffee, please.” He spent most of the journey asleep, but it doesn’t change the fact that it’s barely four in the morning in California, and Harry doesn’t know if he can both stay up for the rest of the day and get through his sister’s interrogation, closely followed by his mum’s, without a mug of strong coffee to help him along first. “And it’s not like you don’t know everything already. We talk all the time. And you talk to Louis, too.”

“Oh, I do.” She rolls her eyes. “It’d help a lot if he wasn’t terribly fucking stubborn and stopped avoiding my questions, making it incredibly bloody hard to get any information out of him.”

“Maybe you should take that as a hint that it’s none of your business, sis.”

Gemma narrows his eyes at him. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that. Coffee first. Then we’re talking,” she informs him and heads to the kitchen.

~*~

The thing about Gemma is that she knows when to push and when to let go.

She asks about Louis, and she asks about Harry’s music, but then she changes the topic seamlessly and talks about her life instead. Harry curls up in one of the armchairs, a mug of hot coffee cradled between his hands, and simply listens as she complains about one of her co-workers, tells him about the night she and her boyfriend went to a karaoke bar and had probably the best time of their lives, informs him that her cat decided to wake her up this morning by jumping on her head and demanding attention, and fills him in on all the other bits in between. By the time they start their journey up North, Harry feels a lot more at ease, and when Gemma starts belting out Christmas songs along to the radio, he happily joins in.

It’s already dark outside when they arrive in Holmes Chapel and their mum ushers them inside, greets them with warm hugs, fresh baked goods waiting for them on the table, and a promise of hot chocolate coming right up.

~*~

Harry’s not sure what he expected from coming back to England, but as he spends the next few days helping his mum out in the kitchen, decorating the house with Gemma, and going grocery shopping, he knows none of it happens. There’s no uncomfortable itch that makes him feel unwelcome in his own skin, no sudden feeling or realisation crashing through. It’s strange to see his old bedroom again, posters on the walls and CDs he hasn’t listened to in forever, a diary in the drawer of the bedside table full of moments that used to feel like the most important things in the entire world and now feel a bit like they belong to someone else. It’s strange to walk around the tiny town and remember how desperately he wanted to get out while still loving it dearly, and not knowing if any other place would ever feel as much as home as this one had. It’s strange to see people who used to be his friends and neighbours, who watched him grow up, and have no idea what’s going on in their lives, to know that now they see him on their screens more often than they do in real life, but still decide to stop and chat to him, and treat him like they used to back when he was just a kid who dreamed about being a singer some day. It’s strange, but at the same time not at all. It’s nostalgic and comforting, feels like belonging, in a way, like this place will always welcome him and be his home, no matter how many years pass and what happens in between.

He finds out that some old traditions never die and, on Christmas Eve, he goes out to a pub with a bunch of his old friends. He drinks, and laughs, and catches up with all of them — he finds out that one of his friends is married and already expecting his second child, that another one is engaged, and someone else got an internship in New York and is flying there right at the beginning of January for six months, while their other friend is currently finishing their medical degree. It’s one of those things that make him realise just how much everything has changed over the years and that life goes on for all of them, no matter what. It also makes the evening feel more important, somehow, knowing that they still make time for each other, even though none of them are kids anymore and they’re all strewn all over the world, trying to make their own path.

Once they say their goodbyes, he decides to take the longer way home and calls Louis. He wishes him a happy birthday and asks about being back in Doncaster, confirms their plans for the last days of December. When he gets back home and finds his mum still awake, sitting on the couch with a book and a blanket, waiting up for him, he feels a bit overwhelmed with it all; he laughs, but it comes out shaky.

“I feel like I’m eighteen again,” he says, coming fully into the room and sitting down next to her. She lifts one side of the blanket in a silent invitation; Harry smiles and moves closer, under it, and he lets himself rest his head on her shoulder and just breathe for a second.

“Did you have a good time?” she asks, running her hand up and down his back.

Harry nods.

“Yeah, it was nice to see everyone again. It’s just…” He trails off, shrugs. “We’ve all changed. It’s like mixing two different parts of my life together. I’ve been feeling this way a lot lately.”

“Is that a bad thing?” Anne inquiries, her voice soft.

“It’s… no. I don’t know.” Harry sighs and sits up, meets her eyes. “I’ve spent a lot of time trying to figure out who I am and who I want to be, trying to make myself better and happier. I still am. It’s— it’s hard to connect those two worlds, you know? I saw them and it made me feel like I was— I’m not that Harry anymore.”

“Of course you are,” Anne replies easily, confidently.

“I don’t—“

“You’re still the same boy who put on a brave face when he fell and hurt his knee, who came home drunk for the first time when he was fifteen, who decided to take a chance and follow his dreams, even if the day before he was so anxious he cried on his mum’s shoulder.” She smiles fondly, brushing his hair away from his face. “You’re just finding yourself now. Growing. Being happy. Sometimes it means parting ways with people but sometimes it’s just about figuring out how you fit together now.” She pauses for a second before nudging him gently and adding, “And sometimes you have to part ways before you can figure out how to fit together again.”

The corner of Harry’s lips curls up into a small, amused smile. “You know, if you want to know something, you should just ask.”

“Don’t need to,” Anne replies. “I know you’ll come to me when you’re ready to talk about it.”

Harry knows he can tell his mum anything; even as a teenager, when all of his friends were complaining about their parents and coming up with made-up stories and excuses, he didn’t feel the need to hide something from her, to lie. He told her about his first drink and first cigarette and first kiss, about not studying for one of his tests instead of pretending to be sick, about the time there was a boy at his school who he desperately wanted to be friends with, before he even realised he had a crush, because at that point in his life he was convinced boys were only supposed to have crushes on girls. She has always been his best friend, someone who he knew would always understand, always love him. He’s never had any reason to doubt that.

He hasn’t told her about why he and Louis stopped talking, stopped being a part of each other’s lives. He isn’t sure why; maybe it was about punishing himself in some way, maybe because he felt ashamed and guilty, and she’s only ever asked about it once. She’s always trusted him to come talk to her if he wanted or needed to, and Harry thinks it’s one of the reasons why their relationship is the way it is, why they’ve always been so close.

“Put on a film and I’ll make us hot chocolate, yeah?” He suggests and heads to the kitchen, collects his thoughts as he waits for the milk to warm up. When he comes back, _Elf_ is on and it takes him right back to being a kid, watching it while curled up on the sofa with her and Gemma.

As the story on the screen unfolds, Harry talks. He tells his mum about the less pleasant sides of publicly coming out, about working on new music, about his worries and doubts, about goals and possible plans. He tells her about Louis, about what happened between them before and about Los Angeles, about Louis making him simultaneously feel like he’s sixteen again and like he can be fully himself around him, the twenty-six year old that Harry has worked so hard to become. He talks about Nick and he talks about the questions floating around his head lately, and even though he knows his mum won’t give him answers, by the time he stops, another film’s already started, and it is way too late for them to still be awake on Christmas Day. His chest feels lighter, though, his mind clearer, and as they reach the top landing, Anne hugs him goodnight, presses a kiss to his cheek, and he can’t help but cling to her a little, because he feels overwhelmingly lucky to have her.

~*~

Christmas passes in a flurry of family, food and gifts, and before he knows it, Harry’s already back on his way to London, to Louis.

Louis’ house undoubtedly feels like a _home_. Maybe it’s the pictures of people closest to him filling every available surface there is, or the art that hangs on the walls and is so obviously _Louis_ that there’s no doubt he’s carefully picked out every single one of those paintings instead of letting someone else do it for him. Maybe it’s the half-empty mug of coffee on the table or the jumper thrown over the backrest of one of the sofas, or the stack of DVDs still on the floor instead of standing neatly on the shelf with the rest of them. Maybe it’s the obvious ease in the set of Louis’ shoulders and the way he moves around the place like he could do that even if he was blindfolded, like there’s not even one corner he’s not completely familiar with. Maybe it’s just the way every aspect of it makes him feel like the whole place was created specifically for Louis, like the entire interior design was taken straight from his mind and made real; like it’s a safe space for him, somewhere he can come and rest and be himself without worrying about anything or anyone.

Harry loves his house and he loves living in Los Angeles. He loves the hustle and bustle of the city, loves waking up to it being sunny most of the year, loves the opportunities that come from living there, the excitement and aspirations and creativity that fill the air, the dreams people carry with them, hoping to achieve something, to form their own path. He’s good at travelling and adapting to change and living out of a suitcase in a way Louis never was. Louis has always been that kind of person who would strew their things all over a hotel room, making it look cosy and a bit messy and more like home, even if they were there only for two nights. And as Harry looks around, takes it all in, he knows that hasn’t changed, that the proof of that is all around him; there are little things everywhere that immediately make the whole place feel lived in and comfortable. It’s not just a place to stay, somewhere to live, it’s a _home_ , and it’s achingly obvious.

(For a second, Harry can’t help but wonder whether it was one made with Adam, if a part of Louis still hurts whenever he catches sight of something familiar, something that reminds him of what happened between them, or when he realises that something he automatically expected to be there is missing. He remembers what it was like at first, after he and Louis stopped living together, how the empty spaces sometimes felt worse than anything else did. How he’d sometimes make two cups of tea in the morning or reach out to the other side of the bed, and suddenly feel like the ground shifted beneath him, like he missed a step while walking down the stairs.)

Being around Louis now is… Harry thinks the best word to describe it is _familiar_. The initial greeting and the hug are a bit stilted, like they’re both trying to figure out how to act around each other again, after being away, like they’re both cautious not to overstep a line. But, gradually, Harry relaxes into it and it only gets better from there. It’s startling, sometimes, how easy it is to fall back into old habits with Louis, while still learning new things about him all the time. How easy it is to tease and to laugh and to talk back, to reach out and smooth out the collar of his shirt, to watch a film together with Louis’ feet in his lap, his fingers slowly tracing patterns into Louis’ skin.

Even if certain moments still leave him feeling off balance.

“Where is that bowl again?” Harry calls out, leaning against the counter. He spent the past five minutes rummaging through all the cupboards and attempting to find something he can put their popcorn in, because they’ve decided that a film night is in order. The problem is that Louis’ very specific instructions consisted of waving his hand in the general direction of the kitchen and saying it’s in one of the lower cupboards somewhere.

So far the only thing Harry’s found is the possibility that he might need glasses.

“I forgot Lottie decided to move some stuff around the last time she was here,” Louis says, coming into the kitchen and offering Harry a smile that doesn’t look at all apologetic. “I think it might be here.” He indicates the cupboard next to Harry’s head and, without stopping, moves closer and reaches towards it. As he stands on his tiptoes to have a proper look, he rests his hand on Harry’s hip for balance, and Harry feels like his brain short-circuits for a second; he’s standing between the counter and Louis’ body, and they’re so close together, Harry can feel Louis’ breath on his cheek. His thinks his heart might beat out of his chest.

“There it is,” Louis murmurs, pulling out the bowl and taking a small step back. He doesn’t move his hand, though, and when their eyes lock, Harry’s breath catches in his throat and he feels paralysed, like the whole world has come to a halt along with them. The way Louis is looking at him, curious and searching, makes Harry feel restless and vulnerable, and it’s suddenly too much. He closes his eyes; Louis steps back swiftly and clears his throat.

“Right,” Louis says, “Are you alright with everything else, then?”

Harry focuses on his breathing. He’s twenty-six years old, for fuck’s sake. What the _hell_ was that? Neither of them has shied away from initiating physical contact since he arrived, he doesn’t understand why he’s reacting like this. “I’m— yeah. Yeah. If the popcorn’s in the right place, at least.”

“The bowl _was_ in the right place,” Louis replies instantly, but he seems a bit thrown off as well, and for some reason it makes Harry feel calmer, that he’s not the only one affected by this. “It was just in the _new_ right place.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Harry says. When Louis opens his mouth to surely argue back, he cuts him off. “If you want your popcorn, you need to get out and stop distracting me.”

“You can’t kick me out of my own kitchen,” Louis protests, but there’s a shadow of a smile on his face, like he’s doing his best to fight it off, and when Harry shoots him a pointed look, he lifts both of his hands up in surrender. “Alright, alright. I’m gonna go choose a film.” He takes a corkscrew out of the drawer and pauses in the doorway. “Is it bad to watch Christmas films after Christmas?”

Harry raises one of his eyebrows. “Do you know who you’re talking to?”

Louis laughs. “Christmas film it is.”

~*~

One night, Harry picks up a photo album from one of Louis’ shelves.

“I like having them printed out,” Louis explains when Harry teases him about being old-fashioned, even though he has some himself. “Feels a little bit more special than just having them on my phone or laptop, I guess.”

Harry pauses before putting it back, and he gets a smile and a go ahead to look through it. Louis joins him, offers quiet commentary and stories Harry hasn’t known about. He tells him about things like Doris and Ernest’s third birthday and Lottie’s engagement, another charity project his mum organised and fully put herself behind, Fizzy going off to uni. Harry doesn’t think he’s ever known another such tight-knit family. Even though he himself is very close to his own, there’s something different about the Tomlinson-Deakins, something that you can see from a mile away, but is even more prominent and special once they let you in, let you see the full extent of it.

There are also some pictures of Louis and Adam, and even though curiosity burns Harry’s throat, he swallows through it — he doesn’t know if it’s appropriate to ask, so he doesn’t. Louis figures it out though, assures him it’s alright, that he doesn’t mind. He tells Harry about the occasions and events during which they were taken, says that even though they’re not together anymore, they’re memories he wants to keep, memories that are important to him.

“He proposed to me, you know,” Louis says suddenly into the silence that follows one of his stories. His voice is quiet, unsure, like he doesn’t know if he should be talking about this, if he wants to. Harry looks up at him sharply, surprise and a quick flash of— of jealousy, maybe, of _something_ going through his body. Louis’ still looking down at the album, playing with the corner of one of the pages. He doesn’t seem sad or upset, but vulnerable, and more open than Harry’s had a chance to see him in a very long time.

“What happened?” Harry asks softly.

“I said no,” Louis answers and shrugs, attempting to feign nonchalance. “I loved him, I was in love with him and he made me happy but it wasn’t—” He cuts himself off and runs his hand through his hair, lets out a shaky breath. When he meets Harry’s eyes, Harry feels like his whole world narrows down to Louis, to his voice and expression, their hands next to each other, almost touching. Almost. “Do you remember how it felt? When we were together? How— how overwhelming and intense all the feelings were? Like they couldn’t possibly fit into your body, like we were overflowing with it, like it was _too much_ at times. Do you remember?”

Harry’s throat feels dry. He doesn’t trust himself to say anything, so he simply nods. Of course he remembers. It’s one of the reasons why it was so terrifying at the time; he loved Louis so much, it felt like he could burst with it sometimes, like they loved each other so fiercely, in the end it burnt them to the ground. Louis was his best friend, his favourite person, and sometimes Harry couldn’t help but think they were made for each other, that the universe had planned for them to meet and fit together so perfectly. He’s not sure if he believes in soulmates or if he ever has, but back then it was definitely how it felt at times — like something stronger than them had something to do with it.

The corners of Louis’ lips curl up into a humourless smile. “I was thinking about marrying you when I was nineteen, but I couldn’t say yes to the man I loved when I was twenty-seven.”

Harry’s chest hurts so much, he feels like he can’t breathe. “Louis—”

“The thing is,” Louis interrupts him, “the thing is, it wasn’t like that with Adam. Maybe love like that happens only once, maybe— it was just different. It was more like… more like walking slowly than falling.” He pauses, huffs out a laugh. “Wow, that was a really terrible metaphor for someone who prides himself on writing for a living. It’s just… it’s hard to explain. My point is that I loved him and I was happy and I wouldn’t take any of it back. But I couldn’t— it felt like settling. Like if I said yes, I would always wonder whether there was something else I was missing, because I’ve felt more before. Because I knew I _could_ feel more.”

Without thinking, Harry reaches out and grips Louis’ wrist, because he just needs to touch, needs to do _something_. He doesn’t know what any of this means. He doesn’t know what to feel or what to think, or where this is going to lead them, but in that moment it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter, because Louis smiles at him, moves his hand until their fingers are intertwined together, and squeezes gently before letting go, like he’s letting Harry know it’s okay.

Harry hesitates before asking, “Have you ever… regretted it? Saying no?”

Louis’ smile doesn’t disappear but it gets a sad, tired edge to it. “Of course I have,” he replies. “Just because something is a good decision in the long run, doesn’t mean it’s an easy one. I cried, and I missed him, and I wondered. We were together for a long time and I couldn’t help but think that I fucked up, that I was always going to be alone. There was no fight, no anything. We both still loved each other when we broke up. It just— wasn’t enough, I guess. We both deserved more.”

They’re both quiet for a moment.

“I’m really proud of you, you know,” Harry says softly. “For making that decision. For not settling, for realising that you deserved more, both of you. It couldn’t have been easy and I’m sorry you were hurt. You deserve— _God_ , Louis. You deserve someone who loves you with their entire self, who would be ready to do anything for you. Someone who… someone who makes you feel alive and fully yourself and whole, while acknowledging you’re your own, separate person. You deserve to feel that passion, you deserve—” He falters slightly. “Everything. You deserve everything,” he finishes quietly.

“Harry, I—” Louis looks at him almost like he’s trying to find something; Harry doesn’t know if he does or what it is, but Louis’ expression softens, becomes even less guarded, and Harry’s breath hitches in his throat. “Thank you. You deserve all of that, too.”

~*~

The night before New Year’s Eve, Harry knocks on Louis’ bedroom door.

“Lou? Are you still awake?”

He’s half-convinced he won’t get an answer; it’s already pretty late and he can’t see any light coming from under the closed door. Even though it’s technically still their Christmas break, their jobs aren’t always something that works on a very specific schedule, especially the songwriting part of it, and Louis went up to his room earlier to answer some work-related Skype call. After about half an hour of mindlessly watching a random film, Harry retreated to the spare bedroom he’s been staying in, had a chat with his mum and with Kate, and decided to try and have an early night before the party tomorrow. It didn’t really work out, though. He ended up just twisting and turning in bed, his mind refusing to slow down or turn off, and eventually he gave up on the possibility of falling asleep anytime soon.

“Yeah, come in,” comes Louis’ reply, and suddenly Harry feels very unsure about what he’s doing here. He still opens the door, steps inside. His eyes take a minute to adjust — Louis’ sitting in bed, a laptop in his lap, and the only sources of light are the screen and the small lamp on the bedside table.

“What’s up? Do you need anything?”

“No, it’s just—” As Harry lifts his hand to run his fingers through his hair, he remembers that he put it into an almost-bun while getting ready to sleep, and he awkwardly drops it back to his side, fiddles with the hem of his tee instead. When it becomes clear he’s not going to continue, Louis raises one of his eyebrows expectantly.

"Do you need some warm milk to help you sleep? A lullaby perhaps?" He prompts good-naturedly and, despite the turmoil going on inside him, Harry manages a small smile at that.

“Would you be the one singing it?” He asks.

Louis narrows his eyes thoughtfully. “Would the answer to that influence your decision? You know, I think I still have the lullabies I used to play for Ern and Doris when they were younger. Or, well. Still do, sometimes, just don’t tell them I said that. _Especially_ Doris. She’s _a big girl now_ , she doesn’t need lullabies.”

He looks so amused and fond, sitting here in his pyjamas, talking about his younger siblings, and Harry feels like something inside him breaks a little bit, aches with the thoughts that he could have lost it, that he almost has, that he actually _did_ for a while. That there were so many years he spent not seeing Louis like this, not hearing him talk about people and things that matter the most to him and just… not having him in his life.

He hasn’t come here tonight with any sort of a plan in his head — he felt distressed and anxious, and was… seeking comfort, maybe, or company, or distraction, or perhaps all of it at once. Somehow, apparently that meant coming to Louis. Louis who talks about his family like there’s nothing he wouldn’t do to make them happy; Louis who, as Harry stays silent, looks up at him inquiringly, and the amusement sparkling in his eyes slowly gives way to a slight frown; Louis who trusted him with his past and shared a big part of himself, who didn't shy away from being open and vulnerable. Harry thinks if there’s anyone who would understand, it’s Louis, but the words seem to be stuck in his throat, like there are too many of them and they all want to get out at once. Or are stopping each other from getting out at all.

“Alright, what’s going on?” Louis finally asks. Harry swallows hard.

"I can't sleep," he says, and even just putting those three words out there, out loud and to another person, seems to slightly soothe his nerves. “I’m feeling anxious and I can’t sleep.”

A beat passes between them, and then without another glance at his laptop, Louis closes it and puts it on the floor. He scoots to the side a little, patting the empty space beside him invitingly.

“C’mon, sit down.”

There’s a small part of Harry’s brain that’s wondering whether any of this is a good idea. There are probably hundreds of reasons to just smile, insist that it’s nothing, and get the fuck out before he does something stupid, but he’s too tired to do anything but acknowledge that thought and sit down anyway. He picks at the duvet just to occupy his hands with something.

“What’s bothering you, H?” Louis asks softly.

“The party,” he replies and he knows how stupid that sounds. He keeps his eyes firmly on his own hands, but he can feel Louis looking at him, can almost see the bewildered expression on his face when he speaks:

“Nick’s party? Why on earth would you feel nervous about that?”

“It’s stupid, isn’t it?” Harry says, already feeling ridiculous. He pushes through it; even regardless of his own feelings, he reckons that it’s one of those things they should talk about. And he trusts Louis. “Nick’s still my friend. He texted me after I came out, we saw each other at the beginning of the year. It’s not like— It’s not like what happened between us or— so why am I feeling like this?” He asks, frustrated. He doesn’t even know how to explain what it is between them, what happened, and maybe that’s what’s making it so difficult: that there’s no definite answer and no clear solution. It’s like one day Nick was Harry’s best friend and the next their lives were completely separated, the friendship and occasional meetings more of a formality and habit than anything else. Harry knows it’s his fault as well, that in his attempt to figure out who he is, he’s both gained and lost more than he ever expected to, but there’s a part of him that can’t help but feel a little bit bitter about it all. There was no falling out, no fight, no reason — just drifting apart and suddenly realising that everyone else’s lives go on without you.

“Did Gemma ever tell you about how long I avoided her after… after you left?” Louis asks and the question itself is so surprising that Harry automatically looks up at him. He shakes his head. They didn’t talk about Louis a whole lot back then, and Gemma never mentioned anything to him. “Well, I did avoid her, for a few weeks at least, until she showed up at my place and refused to leave without getting her answers first. I didn’t know how to act around her after what happened between us, how to move on from you while maintaining relationships with people who were connected to you, connected to us, to the band. Gemma was the hardest, obviously, since she’s your sister, but not the only one. I don’t—” He takes a deep breath, like he’s trying to calm himself down, to relax. “I feel like maybe you have this image of me being fine and letting go and figuring out my life, having all the answers but... I struggled, too. A lot. I cut myself off from people, I threw myself into work, I avoided certain parties just because of how many mutual friends we have, because I was worried you’d be there. I— I missed you so much, sometimes, I thought the ache would never stop, that I would always feel like there was a piece of me missing. When I visited you in Los Angeles after you came out, that first day I got to my place and called Nick in panic to ask what the fuck I was doing.” Harry tries to think about it, to connect the calm, composed Louis he saw with the one he’s hearing about now, and his chest hurts. “It’s understandable that you feel like this, that you’re unsure of what’s going on between you two, of how to... be around him. He was one of your best friends and then suddenly he wasn’t, and it hurts. But you can figure things out, if you want to.”

Harry knows it’s not entirely fair of him to say this, but it’s late and he’s tired, and Louis is being open and honest, and the words stumble out of him, “It really hurt, you know. Seeing the two of you together and— you were two of the most important people in my life and I hated that I lost both of you, that you were both there but not with me, that you had each other when I—” He cuts himself off, horrified that he said that out loud. “I didn’t— fuck, I didn’t mean that, I’m sorry. Christ.”

He did think that at first, sometimes, in the moments when he let his thoughts get bitter, and resentful, and selfish, and _hurt_ , but he knew that it was unfair, and terrible, and not something he genuinely meant. He loved — loves — both of them, if in different ways, and he’s only ever wanted them to be happy.

“You know, back when— when we were still together, Nick and I hadn’t exactly been very close. We were friends, sure, sometimes we even hung out without you, but it wasn’t— And I still felt hurt. When it seemed like the two of you started spending every waking moment together, when if we weren’t on tour, it seemed like you were with Nick, partying and having fun and definitely not feeling like everything just fell apart a bit, because you got your heart broken. I know—“ he holds up his hand when Harry opens his mouth to say something, to _protest_ , “—I _know_ it wasn’t like that, Harry. But that’s how I felt. Hell, even after Nick and I actually became close friends, he went to California and he met up with you, and when he just casually mentioned it, I felt that stab of _he fucked off and left me, and he left you, too, how can you just ‘grab some drinks and chat’?_ and it was ridiculous and unfair, but the point I’m trying to make here is that we all think those things. And it’s fine to talk about them. It’s _good_ , even, because otherwise they can just grow and completely suffocate you.”

Harry takes a deep breath, lets it out. “I’m more of a ‘write them in your journal and never look at them again’ kind of guy,” he says. “‘Turn them into a song’, perhaps.”

Louis hums. “Yeah, same.” At Harry raised eyebrows, he rolls his eyes. “Giving good advice doesn’t mean I always _follow_ it. I’m not some kind a perfect human who deals with everything in healthy ways.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

Louis snorts. “Yeah, well, fake it till you make it, right?”

Harry acknowledges that one with a smile. “Would you ever let me read one of those songs?”

“No,” Louis says. “Probably not. You?”

“Don’t think so, no,” Harry replies and Louis nods. They both know there are certain things that happened, moments and feelings and thoughts they won’t be able to fully understand, tucked away in the corners of their minds, just for them, but they both seem to be okay with that.

After a minute or so of them just sitting quietly, Louis asks, “Do you feel like hot chocolate?” and Harry immediately stands up.

Once in the kitchen, he takes the milk out of the fridge and puts it next to the stove and then jumps onto one of the countertops, watching as Louis takes out the pan and the hot chocolate mix.

“I appreciate that you don’t heat the milk in the microwave,” Harry tells him. “I think it shows character.”

“That’s ridiculous, of course you do,” Louis replies and the corner of Harry’s lips turns up. “I think my mum would actually disown me if I did that. We Tomlinsons take our hot chocolate very seriously.”

“Yeah.” Harry’s spent his fair share of evenings drinking hot chocolate and talking to Jay. He was family, then, and he can’t help but feel another slight pang of loss at the thought. “I know.”

They move to the lounge next and they talk quietly on the couch, hands wrapped around their mugs; they’re both Christmassy and completely inappropriate at this point, and Harry absolutely loves it. He has a feeling that Louis might have done that just to make him laugh.  

At one point, when it’s far too late for them to be still awake considering the party waiting for them the next day, Louis reaches out and puts his hand on top of Harry’s.

“Harry, about what we talked about earlier. You have both of us now, alright?” he says quietly. Harry turns his hand around, palm up, and grips Louis’ tightly. “Nick cares about you and he wants you there. He might be a lot of annoying things, but he’s fiercely loyal when it comes to his friends, once you get through the stupidly tall walls he puts up. And I think you did that better than a lot of other people. He might be hurt, both of you are, but… you’re the kind of person who’s very hard to let go of, H.”

There’s that feeling again, the one Harry can’t put a clear name to, but that fills him with warmth and makes everything ache in a way Harry would probably welcome for the rest of his life. He blinks a few times to stop the stinging in his eyes and offers Louis a small but sincere smile.

“Thank you, Lou. For everything.” He thinks Louis understands that he doesn’t only mean for everything tonight but just... for everything. He clears his throat. “How did the two of you become friends anyway?” He inquires, and Louis doesn’t oppose to the change of the subject. “I know you were always friendly, but from what I’ve seen and from what you’ve said earlier, it sounds like you’re…close.”

“We are,” Louis nods. “And I’m not sure, to be honest. I went on The Breakfast Show to promote my song, we met at a few events and industry things. He insulted my choice of drinks, I insulted his hair. Somehow we started talking and hanging out, I had a little segment on the show for a bit, and the rest is history.” He pauses, fondness seeping into his expression. “It turns out the dickhead is quite charming sometimes, as you are probably aware. If he asks you, though, I only like him because of his dogs.”

Harry raises his eyebrows. “Am I going to have to fight with you for Pig’s affection?”

“I’m really sorry to have to tell you this, Haz,” Louis says, mock-serious, “but you’ve already lost. I’m her favourite and I won’t give up that title.”

“Well, if everything else fails, I guess Nick and I will bond over the jealousy of you and Pig,” Harry says lightly.

“You still have the little pup to charm,” Louis reminds him. “He’s a feisty little thing, pretty strong opinions on everything from food to toys to people. Nick insists it’s because he spends too much time with me.” He rolls his eyes.

Harry smiles. “I’ll keep that in mind.”   

~*~

By the time Harry and Louis arrive at Nick’s place, the party’s already in full swing. People are dancing and singing along to the music, and there’s a buzz of energy and conversations filling the entire place, sometimes interrupted by a loud burst of laughter from one of the groups.

Some people stop and chat to them, others offer a quick hug and a ‘hello!’ before disappearing again, while the rest either ignores them or sends a small smile and a wave their way and turns back to their friends. Harry tries very hard not to feel horribly out of place. Almost all of them are people he knows, considers friends more or less, but he can’t help but think about the fact that they’re all pretty much a huge group he isn’t really a part of anymore. He remembers being nineteen and feeling the most himself around them, stumbling out of clubs together and sleeping in piles on Nick’s sofa if they were too drunk to get back home, having small get-togethers. Now they’re just acquaintances, people he sees a few times a year for a brief moment, during industry events more often than not.

It’s the weirdest feeling, almost dream-like. Harry has a hard time wrapping his head around it.

“Here he is,” Louis mutters and Harry looks up, startled out of his thoughts. Louis grabs his wrist, steering him towards the kitchen and, as it turns out, the host of the party.

Before they left, Harry had spent a long time toying with the idea of coming here earlier, of maybe attempting to have a conversation with Nick before the whole thing started and anyone else showed up. Ultimately, he decided against it — Nick deserves more than twenty minutes of rushed, half-arsed explanations in the middle of organising everything, they both do. Now, though, with every step they take, Harry’s stomach churns and he slightly regrets that decision.

He hates feeling self-conscious, unsure about his every move, about what’s expected of him.

Louis greets Nick with fondly exasperated, “What the fuck are you wearing?” and a kiss to his cheek. Nick grins.

“I knew you’d appreciate it,” he says, running his hand down the front of his obnoxiously bright, patterned shirt. “I bet you’d look lovely in it, darling.”

“I wouldn’t be found dead wearing something like this,” Louis replies and Nick rolls his eyes. Louis’ hand rests on the small of Harry’s back, the touch barely there, and he gently pushes him forward, brings the attention to him. “Harry, here, on the other hand…”

Harry and Nick look at each other, neither of them speaking for a moment. Finally, Nick smiles and it’s only slightly strained; Harry doesn’t think he would notice it if he didn’t have practice, if he didn’t use to know Nick as well as he did.

“Well, Tomlinson, you’re obviously inferior when it comes to fashion choices and opinions in this company.”

“Alright, Mr. I Have A Clothing Line At Topman So I Consider Myself Some Kind Of A Fashion Guru.”

Nick raises one of his eyebrows, amused. “Do I need to remind you that you own almost everything from that particular clothing line?”

“I’m just obviously the best, most supportive friend you could possibly dream of, and you should be grateful to have me in your life every single day.”

Nick snorts. “I’ll be grateful from the other side of the room, then,” he declares as someone calls his name, but before he disappears amongst the other guests, he presses a quick kiss to Louis’ cheek and offers Harry another smile, this time a bit more genuine. “Drinks are over there,” he points towards one of the worktops. “Have fun!”

Harry stares after his retreating figure for a few seconds before turning back to Louis, bewildered. Louis shrugs, smiling. “Let’s go get drunk, H.”

Harry reckons it’s probably the best idea.

~*~

“You gonna kiss him at midnight, then?”

Harry looks up sharply. Nick’s leaning against the wall next to him, a drink in his hand, and he’s not looking at Harry. Instead, his eyes are trained on Louis on the other side of the room, currently laughing at something a woman whose name Harry can’t recall is telling him.

Harry tears his eyes away and swallows hard.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says thickly. Nick takes another sip of his drink.

“Don’t you?” He muses, eyebrows slightly raised, but his voice is soft. Harry tries to reel in the urge to bolt. “You’re not being very subtle, you know, staring at him the whole night.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Harry repeats stubbornly, refuses to meet Nick’s eyes. “I’m not—” He cuts himself off, takes a deep breath. Louis glances their way, almost like he can tell they’re talking about him, and he sends them a small smile before returning to his conversation; the room suddenly starts feeling too hot and too full of people. “We’re just friends. That’s all there is.”

Nick hums. “Is that what you want it to be?”

Harry bristles. “I don’t—Why— Look, Louis doesn’t—”

“I’m not talking about what Louis does or doesn’t, Styles,” Nick replies, watching him calmly, which Harry finds extremely unnerving.

“No, you don’t know what you’re talking about at all,” he snaps.

Nick shrugs, raises his hands in a placating gesture. “If you say so, popstar.”

He’s always been extremely good at pushing Harry’s buttons, and it looks like that hasn’t changed over the years and the distance.

Harry closes his eyes. “Why are you calling me that,” he asks flatly.

“Because you’re still a popstar,” Nick says, and while his voice is nothing but confident, Harry has a feeling it’s less genuine than Nick would like Harry to think. “And you’re also still my friend. Even if you fuck off to the other side of the world and replace me with new, shiny friends.”

“I didn’t replace you,” Harry protests. “Nick—”

“I’m not drunk enough for this conversation,” Nick declares. Harry wants to point out that he’s the one who fucking started it in the first place, that he’s the one who came here and started talking about things he has no idea about, but before he has the chance, Nick continues, “Or I’m too drunk for it. Something. We’re not talking about this during my New Year’s Eve party.”

“Nick—”

Nick shakes his head, shows Harry his empty glass.

“I’m going to get a drink now. You should think about that Louis thing,” he advises and Harry slumps back against the wall.

Instead of thinking about it, he does the complete opposite — he composes himself and gets himself another drink, finds Gemma in the crowd and dances with her and her friends and even her boyfriend at one point. He talks to people, asks questions and engages himself, and when he speaks to Nick again, none of them mention Louis this time.

That doesn’t change the fact that there’s an uncomfortable, squirmy feeling in the pit of Harry’s stomach at the thought of Louis kissing someone at midnight.

He tries not to dwell on it, pushes it to the back of his mind. It’s just because of Nick and his stupid question, he reasons with himself as everyone pours out into the garden, wrapped in coats and each other, waiting for the countdown and the fireworks. Harry hangs back, stays near the glass door leading to the patio. Gemma comes up to him to hug him and wish him a Happy New Year before she joins her boyfriend amidst all of their friends.

“Bloody freezing out here,” says a voice from somewhere to Harry’s right, and he turns around, watches Louis coming closer to him, putting out his cigarette on the ashtray on one of the outside tables. He’s only wearing a jumper and, as he comes to a halt next to Harry, he wraps his arms around himself for more warmth, his cheeks already pink from the cold air. “Why can’t we just look from the inside? Or watch it on the telly or something?”

“Stop being a spoilsport,” Harry replies, automatically slipping out of his own jacket. He doesn’t even think about it, just silently offers it to Louis, who looks surprised for a second, but it quickly turns into a smile.

“Thanks,” he murmurs, putting it on. “So. Any resolutions this year?”

Harry shakes his head. “Not a fan of those.”

“You used to be.”

“Grew out of it, I s’ppose. I do like the idea of a new year being a new beginning of sorts, a chance, but I feel like the idea of resolutions only puts a lot of unnecessary pressure on everyone.”

Louis considers it, nods. “Yeah, I guess that’s true. Do you have anything you want to work on this year, then?"

“Sure,” Harry says. “More music, hopefully another film. Visiting my mum more. And— well. I have some friends back in my life and they mean quite a lot to me, so I hope I’ll be able to keep them here and show them just how much.”

Louis bumps his shoulder against Harry’s and Harry can hear the smile in his voice when he says, “All good plans. Might require coming to England a bit more often, though.”

“It’s good to be back here,” Harry tells him. “I didn’t really expect it to feel as much like home anymore, but it does. It’s quite comforting.”

“It’s weird to think about any other place as home,” Louis admits. “I do spend a fair amount of time in Los Angeles and even more in New York, but home is here, always.”

It’s such a _Louis_ statement, something that hasn’t changed a bit since they met, and Harry can't stop the fond smile from showing on his face.

“One minute to go!” someone calls and both Harry and Louis look towards the crowd gathered outside. Louis doesn’t move along to greet the arrival of another year with someone else, doesn’t look for someone to kiss as midnight strikes, doesn’t join the rest of the party in their celebrations. As the countdown starts, he stays right where he is, by Harry’s side, wrapped in Harry’s jacket.

When it reaches _five_ , Harry glances at Louis, and their eyes meet. On _three_ , he watches as Louis’ eyes slowly drop down to his mouth for the briefest of moments, before travelling back up again. He feels frozen in place, his heart beating wildly in his chest; he’s vaguely aware of people cheering in the background, of the fireworks going off all around them, but it feels muted, somehow, like he and Louis are closed off in this bubble, just waiting for one of them to do something and burst it.

Louis cocks his head to the side, the corner of his lips turning up into a smile, and Harry takes a small step forward.

“Happy New Year!” Nick exclaims, stumbling towards them, and everything comes rushing back in — the music, the fireworks, the yells and singing. Nick’s three sheets to the wind and he almost loses his balance, so he wraps his arms around Louis’ shoulders to keep himself upright, presses a kiss to the corner of Louis’ lips.

Harry tells himself to breathe.

“Happy New Year to you too, dickhead,” Louis laughs, patting Nick’s cheek affectionately. Nick grins at him and turns towards Harry, clumsily tugging him into a hug; he gets a kiss as well.

“Don’t be a bloody stranger this year, Styles, alright?” he says, clearly attempting to sound stern, but slightly stumbling over his words instead. “Or I’ll fly to LA just to kick your arse and remind you that I’m still your friend, dammit.”

Harry tightens his hold on Nick. “I always remember, Nick,” he replies quietly, pushing away the guilt that threatens to take over again. Now’s not the time. “But you’re always welcome to yell at me to pull my head out of my arse if I’m being stupid again.”

Over Nick’s shoulder, Harry catches Louis’ eye. His chest constricts painfully at the fondness he finds there, at the unrestricted affection. In that moment one thing becomes clear in his mind: he’s fucked. He’s absolutely, completely fucked, and there’s no damn thing he can possibly do about it now. 

As Nick presses one more sloppy kiss to his jaw and walks off to ramble drunkenly to somebody else, Harry points at the patio door a little desperately and, avoiding Louis’ eyes, he chokes out something about getting a drink and disappears inside. Mostly everyone is still out in the garden, ignoring the biting cold in favour of celebration, but nonetheless, Harry gets stopped a few times on his way to the kitchen to receive wishes and hugs and absently listen to whatever else they decide to say to him, not aware that his whole world has shifted and turned on its head. He knows Gemma would roll her eyes and call him dramatic if she could hear those thoughts but fuck if this isn’t a good moment for some dramatics. 

As soon as he manages to escape from the conversation he’s suddenly found himself involved in, he downs a glass of something colourful and fruity which he’s sure contains a lot more alcohol than it appears to going down. It’s delicious, is what it is, and as he decides that the best course of action is to stay away from Louis and get unreasonably drunk, he also decides to stick with it. He knows he’s going to regret it in the morning — he’s learned that all those drinks are just absolute hell in disguise and lead to the worst hangovers, exactly because of how non-threatening they seem when it comes to their taste, but if he’s ruining his life today, he might as well go all out, right?

He pushes the thought of whatever happened outside out of his mind, as far away as possible, and when Daisy appears at his side and drags him off to dance with her, he doesn’t put up as much of a fight as he probably would have otherwise. He lets himself get lost in the familiarly of this; they’ve gone clubbing together more times than he could possibly count and even though it’s been years since the last time, it almost immediately transports him back — being stupid and young and having all of them egg him on but also take care of him afterwards. The only person who’s seen him drunk off his face more than her is probably Nick, and, for fuck knows which time this night, he finds himself aching with the thought of how much has changed. 

If she notices that something’s off, she doesn’t bring it up. When another song ends, she kisses his cheek and says she’s going to get another drink. He doesn’t intend to go with her, but then he catches sight of Louis and Nick on one of the couches, talking and laughing — he doesn’t think Nick would purposefully mention anything about the conversation they had earlier to Louis, but it’s not like any of them hasn’t let something slip one time or another when too much alcohol was involved, and just the thought of that, the thought of them talking about Harry, about any of it, makes something curl unpleasantly in his stomach, and for a brief second he considers stalking over there and... and he has no idea what. It’s ridiculous, anyhow, so instead he tags along with Daisy to the table and smiles when she passes him a glass without a word. 

By the time Louis drops on the couch next to him, Harry’s drunk and feeling both more comfortable than when he first got here and more out of place at the same time. He’s not entirely sure how it’s possible and he’s not attempting to figure it out. Neither of them says anything and they just sit there for a bit, the two of them in the secluded corner while the party goes on around them. It’s good, Harry thinks. Regardless of everything else, this is good: the comfortable silence and the fact that they’re sitting right here, together, instead of joining in with everyone else. Harry didn’t think having Louis in his life again was an option, let alone like this — open and relaxed, and slowly offering Harry pieces of himself Harry isn’t sure he fully deserves. He hopes he does. He's going to try his damn hardest not to make Louis regret it.

Regret _him_. 

“What’s got you thinking so hard?” Louis asks, only loud enough to be heard over the music. There’s a loud burst of laughter from somewhere to their right that they both ignore.

“You,” Harry replies absently, still halfway lost in his own head. He only snaps out of it when the only answer he receives is silence; he lolls his head to the side and finds Louis already watching him, with a look on his face Harry’s not even going to attempt to interpret with the current state of his brain. There’s something in that look, though, that makes him squirm slightly and look away. 

The buzz of the alcohol is slowly but resolutely going away, leaving tiredness in its wake instead. Harry wants to let himself close his eyes for a few seconds but he fights against it, because he’s fairly certain he wouldn’t be able to open them again if he did. 

“It’s time to say our goodbyes, I think,” Louis says and Harry feels him standing up. A second later there’s a hand in front of his face. “C’mon, let’s find Nick and let him know we’re leaving.”

Harry stares at Louis’ hand before he gathers all of his remaining energy and grasps it, gets to his feet. The whole room sways for a moment, or maybe it’s Harry that does, but Louis steadies him with his free hand on Harry’s shoulder and an amused expression crossing his face. Harry feels a sudden urge to pout that he manages to contain. Louis rolls his eyes like he knows exactly what’s just happened anyway. 

Not letting go of Harry’s hand, he starts leading him through the crowd and Harry lets himself cut off from everything else and simply follow him, focusing on controlling how sick he feels now that they’re moving. He really doesn’t fancy the thought of throwing up on Nick’s carpet or any of his furniture —  he doesn't think it would be a good start to this whole rebuilding friendship thing they've got going on.

He’s in the middle of telling himself to breathe when one of Nick’s questions registers in his brain and makes his eyes snap open, which he instantly regrets. 

“Are you sure you don’t want to stay the night?” is what Nick asks, but it’s what follows that evokes such a reaction from Harry, “You two could take one of the guest bedrooms.”

There are many things Harry considers to be bad ideas, drinking those colourful cocktails tonight among the list, but sharing a bed with Louis, actually sleeping next to him, while he’s drunk and after the revelation that he had earlier, somehow tops all of them at the moment. He’s incredibly glad that neither of them is looking at him right now, because he’s pretty sure the panic that instantly flares up inside of him is quite clear on his face as well. 

He thinks he feels Louis’ grip on his hand tighten slightly, but it’s gone before he can make up his mind about it.

“Thanks, love, but maybe another time,” Louis replies and Harry feels the set of his shoulders dropping with relief. “I’ll come over in the next few days, yeah?”

“You’d better,” Nick replies, smiling. Then he focuses his gaze on Harry. “What about you, Styles? Are you still going to be around?” 

Harry knows they need to talk; as nice as it was to spend a few hours around Nick, to dance and have Nick grin at him like everything was fine, there’s still the air of uncertainty between them, like neither of them is completely sure where they stand, what the boundaries are. 

“Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, I’ll be around. If, you know. If Louis doesn’t kick me out.”

Louis snorts, says, “We’ll see about that,” and Nick rolls his eyes, but they both smile at him.

The rest is a blur of goodbyes and hugs and kisses on cheeks, and promises of seeing each other again. By the time they're in the car, heading back to Louis' place, Harry's already half asleep, and he's not quite certain how he manages to get upstairs to his bed once they arrive. With a lot of Louis' help, probably.

When Louis is about to leave his room, Harry catches his wrist and Louis looks down at him.

"Happy New Year, Lou," Harry mumbles and closes his eyes. 


	2. Chapter 2

~*~

Harry wakes up to his head pounding and an explosion happening somewhere to his left. He groans, presses his face harder into the pillow, and wishes to die, a little bit.

The explosion turns out to be just Louis knocking on the door and apparently Harry letting out some unintelligible sound is enough of an invitation for him.

“Good morning,” he says chirpily and Harry squeezes his eyes shut and does his best to ignore him, hoping that will make him go away. His mouth tastes disgusting, like something crawled in there sometime during the night and died, and he feels gross all over. He doesn’t quite remember the last time his head felt this heavy and he reckons that someone killing him right now would be an act of mercy. “Aren’t you pleasant this morning?” Louis adds and he sounds amused. Harry scowls, regardless of the fact that Louis can’t see his face right now.

“Go away,” he says, his voice muffled by the pillow. He’s not sure if he wants to open his eyes. He’s pretty sure the curtains are drawn and the current light wouldn’t be too much of an assault on his eyeballs, but he also doesn’t really want to risk it. 

“Does that mean you don’t want the water I brought you?” Louis asks and he’s definitely enjoying Harry’s suffering too fucking much. Still — water. Now that Louis mentioned it, the only thing Harry can focus on is how terribly dry his throat feels and how thirsty he is. Water is good. 

He — slowly, carefully —  turns around and squints at Louis, who’s still standing in the doorway, smiling. And isn’t that fucking unfair. 

“Why aren’t you dying with me?” Harry sulks, sitting up slightly. Louis moves closer and passes him the glass of water he’s been holding, sits down next to him. 

“Because I didn’t get as drunk as you? Because I can handle my alcohol better? Because I was mostly sober by the time we got back home?” He lists off and it all— well, it all sounds reasonable, but Harry’s entire body hurts right now and he doesn’t care about reasonable, if he's being completely honest. 

“Why didn’t you stop me, then?” he demands; it comes out louder than he intended and he winces. Louis, thankfully, doesn’t comment on it.

Instead, he shrugs. “You seemed pretty determined to get completely pissed and I didn’t want to ruin your plans?” he says, but it comes out more like a question and also — if Harry’s not mistaken — slightly curious, like he wants to ask about it, but isn’t sure if Harry would tell him. 

Harry sips his water slowly. Some parts of last night are still a blur in his mind, but certain other ones are making themselves more clear now that he’s a bit more awake. The most important thing, Harry guesses, is that he remembers the countdown and Louis’ eyes flicking down to his mouth, remembers their eyes meeting and his chest feeling too tight, remembers feeling like he was standing on the edge and about to fall, and couldn’t do a damn thing to prevent it. He remembers and tries not to. 

He swallows and makes himself look at Louis. He doesn’t quite manage to meet his eyes for more than a few seconds, but— but he’s not going to think about it now. He’ll figure it out, somehow, come up with something that will make it all work, but he’ll do that once he doesn’t feel like his head is about to split open. 

"Thinking about drinking makes me feel even worse,” he replies and Louis laughs, accepts that Harry won’t give him more of an answer. “Stop laughing at my misery.”

“Sorry, love,” Louis says, attempting to school his features, but his eyes still glitter with poorly suppressed amusement. “Can I trust you to take a shower without drowning or falling over and dying while I finish making us food?”

Harry wants to roll his eyes and it’s only the thought of how much additional pain it would cause him that stops him from doing so. Instead, he sits up fully, puts his feet on the ground and closes his eyes, stays like that for a minute, waiting for his stomach to stop protesting against his change of position. When he doesn’t think he’s in immediate danger of being sick on the carpet, he looks towards the bathroom door. It seems awfully far away and it feels like walking there is too much work and not worth it at all, but after a while the promise of cool water on his skin and the stink of the alcohol being gone wins. He nods at Louis — which turns out to be a terrible,  _terrible_ decision — and stands up. 

"You know,” he says conversationally, “next time you could stop me. Even if it seems like I have reasons to get this ridiculously drunk. Fuck those reasons. Fucking hell in disguise, is what all those drinks are.” 

“Okay, H,” Louis replies and Harry doesn’t appreciate how much it sounds like he’s just humouring Harry and like he’s on the brink of laughing. He has no idea what put Louis into such a horribly cheerful mood this morning or if it’s only so obnoxious to him because of how foul he himself feels. Or both. 

The first thing Harry does once he gets to the bathroom is brush his teeth, and it’s honestly incredible how much better such a simple action immediately makes him feel. He showers next, and even though it doesn’t do much good when it comes to his pounding headache or the way everything seems to be too bright for his eyes to comfortably handle, it does help with the ache in his muscles. It also washes off some of his rotten mood. 

He puts on the trackies that are softest to the touch and an oversized jumper, because he doesn’t think he can deal with the feeling of anything else against his skin right now, pushes his hair away from his face with a pretty dreadful attempt at a headscarf, and heads downstairs. 

He stops by the kitchen to grab a bottle of water and, as there’s no sign of Louis anywhere in the vicinity, he figures that they’re having breakfast in the lounge. Well, it’s more like a brunch, or even just a simple lunch at this point, as it’s way past noon already. Harry has no idea how long exactly he slept, but he reckons it should be long enough and definitely doesn’t feel like it is. 

“Glad to see you didn’t die, after all,” Louis says when he spots him, already sitting on the floor next to the coffee table, a cup of tea in his hand. Harry’s stomach feels funny for a second at the sight of food but he’s fairly certain he’ll be able to keep it down and that it will actually make him feel better in the long run, so he pushes through it. “I was trying to stay alert, you know, in case I heard you crashing to the floor or something.” 

“Fuck off,” Harry says with no heat behind it. He eyes the floor for a second and then decides there’s no fucking way he’s sitting on the  _ground_ when he’s feeling like this, and he sinks onto the couch instead, bringing his plate with him.

They don’t talk much as they make their way through the food; once or twice Harry catches Louis looking like perhaps he wants to say something, but each time he seems to change his mind before any words actually make it past his lips. Harry’s tempted to ask, but in the end he doesn’t, and there are about twenty reasons for that, none of which Harry particularly wants to ponder, especially with Louis right next to him. 

At some point, Harry falls asleep. He fights it for a bit, even though they’re not really  _doing_ anything, Harry’s headache still too bad for him to function like a normal human being, and eventually Louis rolls his eyes, huffs, “Just go to sleep, Harry,” and he does, drifts off to the sound of Louis breathing and writing in one of his music-related journals. 

When he wakes up and his eyes immediately fall on Louis, still engrossed in his work, absently tracing patterns into the skin on Harry’s ankle, Harry’s feet in his lap, everything inside him sort of turns itself over and upside down. He knows he won't be able to push it all away from his mind for long, will have to eventually face it and think about it. He knows, no matter how much he hopes it’ll somehow magically disappear. 

He spends a few long seconds just watching Louis, the small frown on his face as he thinks, the way his throat works as he swallows, his hand as he crosses something out and writes something else in its place. He doesn’t want Louis to notice him looking, though, so eventually he speaks.

“What are you working on?” he asks, his voice still rough from sleep. Louis’ fingers immediately still and his eyes snap up to Harry’s. 

“Always on something,” he replies and lifts his arms when Harry makes to sit up. He wonders how long he’ll feel Louis’ touch there, and it’s ridiculous, because they’ve been casually touching ever since he showed up, and his stupid little revelation from last night shouldn’t make it feel so much... more. Just  _more_. “Had an idea to make one of the choruses work better but I’ll still have to go over it later with the piano.” He marks the page he’s been writing on with his pen and closes the journal, puts it on the coffee table. “How’s your head?”

“Uh,” Harry starts, realising that he’s slept most of the afternoon away and it’s nearing dinner time. His head definitely feels clearer, though, better, and in general he feels more like asking for some tea instead of death. He says so out loud. 

Louis grins. “Good. Does that mean you’re going to help with dinner?”

He could probably get away with saying no; Louis would roll his eyes and call him out on his shit, definitely, but he would also let Harry stay on the couch or go back to his room or anything else. And while some part of Harry wants nothing more than that, there’s another one that tells him it would only lead to thinking about Louis and about his feelings, so he heaves a sigh and gets up.

There’s a disapproving voice in his head that sounds suspiciously like Kate. He puts a lot of his energy into ignoring it. 

He’s in the middle of chopping up some vegetables when Louis asks casually, “So, did you enjoy the party? Apart from the raging hangover it caused, of course,” and Harry nearly chops his own finger off. 

He knows what Louis is asking, knows that it’s about the conversation they had regarding Nick. What he doesn’t know is whether he wants to have  _this_ conversation, right now; he feels slightly embarrassed about just telling Louis everything, about going to him in the middle of the night in general and just babbling his heart out about a person who, by all means, is more of a Louis’ friend than Harry’s now. He feels embarrassed and guilty about the bitterness than he used to hold so close to his heart, that he allowed to get out with everything else. It’s not even like Louis said anything about it, he was patient and understanding and more than Harry expected, but, still.

Still.

“Yeah, I did,” he says finally, to his chopping board. “It was— good, to see everyone. Daisy said to let her know whenever I’m in the city and have time to hang out.” 

“Yeah, Dais does seem to be awfully fond of you,” Louis replies, his voice still carefully nonchalant, but there are traces of a smile in there too, now. “In the big sister ‘I won’t ever admit it’ way.” 

“You can see someone puke their guts out only so many times before you make some kind of a deep connection with them,” Harry informs him. 

Louis snorts. “We’re making  _food_ , Harold, please don’t talk about puking.”

“Now you’re the one who’s talking about it,” he replies, because apparently he goes back to being sixteen in every way when he’s around Louis. “But, yeah, she and Nick took it upon themselves to sort me out after our nights out and make sure I was alright.” 

“After being the ones to get you in that state in the first place, I bet.” It’s not a question and Harry doesn’t grace it with a response, which only makes Louis laugh. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.” 

The corners of Harry’s lips turn up into a small smile. 

“I honestly have no idea how I survived that,” he says, thinking back to this morning and how absolutely rank he woke up feeling. “Looking back, it feels like I was constantly out partying and drinking, and—”

 _—and trying to forget you_ , is what his brain supplies. Christ.

If Louis notices the abrupt pause — which he must, Harry can’t see how he wouldn’t — he doesn’t offer any sign of it, just continues as if nothing happened. Maybe his voice comes out a bit too casual to be completely genuine, but Harry’s glad they’re not going back into that territory, that Louis doesn’t feel the need to bring it up again. 

“That’s because you’re getting old,” he says solemnly and Harry huffs out a laugh.

“You do realise you’re older than me, right?” He asks and is relieved to hear his voice sounding normal, not showing the fleeting ache playing up inside him. "If _I'm_ getting old, then what about you?"

“Well, damn, that really works better with Nick,” Louis replies and Harry rolls his eyes. “Speaking of Nick—”

Ah, here it is. Harry braces himself.

“—are you going with me? To his place?”

There are two ways they can go about it, as far as Harry can see: he either agrees and acts like there’s nothing weird and unusual about it, nothing that makes his stomach tie itself in knots, or they have a conversation about it, one with a capital ‘c’. He feels like he’s had more of those in the past few months than in the past two years, and he knows there’s another one waiting for him with Nick. He also knows that Louis will definitely let it slide if that’s what Harry wants. 

“Probably,” he ends up saying, because it’s enough of a ‘yes’ to count but not definite enough to make him feel terrible if he doesn’t, for whatever reason. “When are you planning on going?” he inquires, adding his chopped vegetables to everything else Louis has already put in the pan. 

“Sometime in the next two or three days, I guess,” Louis says. “I think mum mentioned something about visiting with the kids for a bit after that.”

Harry checks on the pasta just so he has something to do with his hands.

“I’ll clear out before that, then,” he tells him and he already thinks about how weird it’ll be to be back in Los Angeles at first, in the sun and in a different time zone, and so far away from his mum and Gemma and Louis. He misses LA, probably more than he expected to, but he also forgot just how much England feels like home, _is_ his home, and now that he’s here, he doesn’t really want to leave. He has to, though; there’s his house, and Kate and Alex, and work waiting for him, everything he’s built for himself over the years, and it’s not like he and Louis haven’t just spent weeks apart anyway. Maybe it’ll be good, too, maybe it’ll help with those stupid feelings that are making themselves comfortable in Harry’s chest and definitely not asking whether that’s okay with him or not.

“If you want to,” Louis replies. Harry finally glances at him — he’s leaning against one of the countertops, spatula in hand, and he’s looking at Harry. “You don’t have to, though. God knows there’s enough space for all of us here and I’m sure mum would be happy to see you.”

“Oh,” Harry says. He doesn’t know if spending time with Louis’ family would be good decision-making on his part, but he can’t help but think about it nonetheless. They were his family, once upon a time, too, after all. “I— I’ll call Kate. See what the plans are.”

“Alright,” Louis agrees easily and it’s the end of that. They don’t bring up Nick or the party or Jay or anything of the sort for the rest of the day. Instead, when the dinner is ready, they settle back on the sofa with the telly on and talk, about everything and anything that comes to mind, or they watch whatever it is on the screen at the time and just sit in a comfortable silence. And it’s _nice_ , it’s really fucking nice, and as Harry falls into bed that night, and he thinks about the look on Louis’ face when he was telling Harry about the time he took both the older and younger twins out for the day and somehow almost ended up bringing home a puppy, his heart twists in his chest in this funny, achy way, and he knows he never stood a chance not to fall again.

~*~

As soon as they step inside Nick’s house, they’re greeted by the sound of nails clicking against the wooden floorboards as both dogs run up to them. There’s an instant smile on Louis’ face as he crouches down to pet Pig and pick the small, black puppy into his arms before heading further inside, not even waiting for Nick to show up. Pig stands still for a second, save for her wagging tail, looking after him, before apparently making up her mind and turning around to stay with Harry.

“Hello, missy,” he says, getting on the floor and scratching behind her ears. She rests her front paws on his thighs to get closer and he laughs, letting her sniff and lick him. “Hi. Did you miss me?”

“Well, she hasn’t seen you for a while.”

Harry’s heart leaps in his chest and he looks up to see Nick standing at the bottom of the stairs, leaning against the banister and watching him, his arms crossed over his chest. His hair seems to still be a bit damp, like he’s got out of the shower not too long ago, and it’s already starting to curl slightly. He’s wearing grey trackies and a big jumper, and Harry doesn’t remember the last time he’s seen him looking so casual, not dressed up for an event or a meeting or a party, and it hits him more than it probably should.

“Grimmy.” The word feels heavy on his tongue; in the bright lights of the morning and without the liquid courage provided in form of alcohol, this whole thing seems a whole lot harder. “Hi.”

"Hello," Nick replies, voice carefully polite. “Where’s Tomlinson?”

Harry makes a vague gesture towards the direction where Louis disappeared. “There, somewhere. Kitchen, if I had to guess.”

Nick rolls his eyes, but when he speaks, the affection in his voice is unmistakable. “Of course he is, parading around the place like it’s his own. Pig,” he addresses the dog, and only then Harry realises he’s still sitting on the floor, Pig halfway across his lap, “go find Louis. Go on, he probably brought something for you and Stinky, because why would he  _ever_ listen to me when he can bribe you with toys and treats instead?”

The corners of Harry’s lips quirk up into a small smile as he stands up. “Did you actually call your dog Stinky? I mean, really?”

“Yes,” Nick answers without even a single note of shame in his voice. “Perhaps if you weren’t on the other side of the world, busy with other things, you would’ve had a chance to give other suggestions or voice opinions,” he adds, and Harry’s smile slides right off his face, his heart sinking. Nick closes his eyes for a second and sighs. “Sorry, that wasn’t— C'mon, let’s just find Louis and— yeah.”

He turns around without waiting for a reply and Harry doesn’t say anything as Nick leads the way to the kitchen. Louis is sitting at the table, the kettle on and the dogs busy playing with a toy Harry’s certain they didn’t have five minutes ago. Nick takes one look at them and shakes his head.

“Stop spoiling them, you brat, they already love you,” he says in lieu of greeting, but he’s smiling. “You’re just doing that to piss me off at this point.”

Louis shrugs, grinning. “That’s my favourite thing to do, Nicholas, you know that.” He catches Harry’s eye and offers him a warm smile that goes straight to Harry’s stupid fucking heart. “I told you Nick’s upset his dogs love me more than him.”

Harry wonders if there’s anyone in this world who could have Louis’ attention on them for more than five minutes and wouldn’t want to keep it there forever. “Weren’t you always saying you’re more of a cat person?”

“He’s still saying that,” Nick replies, “which is obviously a bloody lie. He was talking to me about getting a puppy two weeks ago.”

“He was talking to me about that this morning,” Harry says, trying to brush off the lingering awkwardness and engage himself in the conversation. “He spent an hour showing me different pictures of different breeds.” 

“It's that labradoodle, isn't it? He's properly obsessed now. I fear what his camera roll looks like.”

“A separate album for dogs, definitely. And probably—”

“Alright, break it off, you two,” Louis interrupts them, fond exasperation on his face. “I can be a cat person and still appreciate dogs, piss off.”

“You love us, darling,” Nick shoots back and any response Harry might have come up with dies in his throat. No one else seems to notice or be bothered by the choice of words there, though, because Louis doesn’t even miss a beat before replying, “I would choose Pig over both of you, don’t fool yourselves,” and Harry has to sternly tell himself that having a breakdown in the middle of Nick’s kitchen would be a terrible idea for an abundance of reasons. 

“Can’t blame you,” he says and as the words leave his lips, he knows his voice doesn’t sound quite right. Louis glances at him, his brows furrowing slightly, but Nick just sends him a knowing look. Instead of dealing with any of it, Harry takes a seat and busies himself with watching Stinky running after Pig and attempting to take her toy away, even as his own lies on the floor, apparently not offering nearly as much fun. 

Nick clears his throat. “Right. Tea, anyone? Perhaps something stronger to start us off?” 

“Nick,” Louis sighs, and even without looking at him Harry can tell he’s both amused and just the tiniest bit annoyed; perhaps he can’t decide which reaction is better to go with in a situation like this. Harry can empathise.

“I could always add something stronger  _to_ the tea, if that makes day drinking somehow more appropriate,” Nick continues, completely ignoring Louis. “Any input? Styles, what do you reckon?”

Startled at being addressed directly, Harry looks up and their eyes meet. At once, Harry is reminded that this is what Nick does: makes ridiculous comments and stupid jokes to somehow, hopefully, get rid of the tension and the awkwardness, pretends that everything is okay instead of facing it head-on. He’s even worse at confrontations than Harry is, resorting to harsh, snappish comments to protect himself, and, in that moment, Harry realises for certain that their conversation will probably be a lot different than the one he had with Louis. 

“Just milk and sugar in mine, thanks,” Harry replies. “But don’t let me stop you from making your own decisions, however terrible they might be.”

“Harry’s still a tad sensitive when it comes to alcohol,” Louis chimes in, and this time he’s definitely amused. “He had quite an interesting morning after your party.”

Harry kicks him under the table. “And, of course, like the amazing friend he is, Louis just found my misery absolutely hilarious.”

“Hey,” Louis protests, “I brought you water and made you food and let you sleep on me, is that not enough for you, you ungrateful prat? And making fun of your friends is, like, the first rule of friendship.”

“Is it? I’m afraid I wasn’t taught that rule during my time at the School Of Friendship,” Harry says. “Also, I did  _not_ sleep on you. You weren’t even on the couch when I fell asleep.”

“Yeah, well, I wasn’t going to spend the entire day on the bloody floor, was I?” Louis says, and Harry doesn’t point out that he could’ve sat anywhere else in the entire house, and that even the lounge has more seats than just the single couch where Harry was sleeping. Instinctively, he glances at Nick and finds him watching the two of them with interest, his eyes slightly narrowed. It makes Harry fidget. “And it’s  _my_ first rule of friendship and that should be good enough for you.”

Harry huffs out a laugh. “Of course it should,” he says. “What’s the next rule, then? Should we make a list? Write it down?”

“Yes,” Louis replies immediately. “Rule number two: if anyone makes fun of the rules, they’re kicked out of the friendship group.”

“Oh no, I’m sorry,” Harry says, barely managing to keep a straight face. “I forgot we were fucking  _twelve_.” 

Louis bites down on a smile and Harry’s heart does something completely ridiculous in his chest. When he opens his mouth to reply, though, Nick interjects. 

“Are you two done?” He asks and they both look at him. He’s leaning against one of the counters, his eyebrows raised. “You’re both so fucking weird.”

“And what does that make you,” Louis says, “if you’re friends with both of us?”

Nick’s eyes flicker between the two of them, settling on Harry for a beat longer, until they go back to Louis and he shakes his head. “God fucking help me,” he mutters and turns around to make their tea. 

~*~

It’s nearing the evening, the sky outside already pitch black, when Louis offers to take both of the dogs for a walk, and insists that he doesn’t need either of them to go with him. Harry watches him as he attaches the leash to Pig’s collar, and then tries to coax the sleepy puppy into going with them and ultimately fails (”Just let him be,” Nick tells him. “He’s too stubborn for this and we’ll let him out in the garden later.”). He slips into his coat, checking his pockets for cigarettes, and proceeds to tell them that he’ll probably be a while.

“I think he was trying to be subtle about leaving us alone,” Nick says conversationally when the front door closes behind him. “I’d give him five for subtlety, but it’s a solid eight for effort.”

“I’d say the subtlety was more of a three,” Harry replies. He eyes the bottle of wine on the coffee table and now slightly regrets his decision to decline joining in with the drinking. “I don’t know if subtlety is exactly what he was going for, though.”

The corner of Nick’s mouth curls up into a smile. “No, probably not,” he agrees. “So. I’m assuming we’re supposed to have some big, emotional conversation here. Pour our hearts out and all that fun stuff.”

“Yeah, I guess so.” Harry nods. “Are you feeling up for it?”

“Not particularly, no.” Nick sighs. “Shall I make us more tea before we get into this? Should we just get shitfaced instead and cry on each other’s shoulders and then kiss and make up or something?”

Harry smiles wryly. “As tempting as that sounds, somehow I don’t think that’s the proper adult way to deal with this situation.”

Nick makes a face. “I would say something about you getting old, but I’d only end up insulting myself,” he says. He sighs again. “You know, sometimes I forget just how young you still are.”

“I’m not that young,” Harry protests, even though he knows what Nick means. Sometimes he looks back at his life and he’s overwhelmed with how much he’s accomplished at a relatively young age, and he himself forgets that he’s only in the middle of his twenties, that there’s still most of his life in front of him. Other times, though, he thinks about all the missed opportunities and other things he still wants to experience and accomplish, and he’s filled with dread that he’ll never be able to fulfil them all, that time is slipping through his fingers. The last time it happened, he spent a few hours just staring at the ceiling and then ranting at Kate about how meaningless everything is in the grand scheme of things. It’s not one of his proudest moments. 

“Just the fact that you said that means you’re still young,” Nick tells him matter-of-factly. He stands up. “I’m making tea.”

Harry considers going after him but doesn’t. He stays on the sofa, listening to Nick pottering around in the kitchen and watching as Stinky cautiously makes his way over to him from one of the cushions.

“Hello,” he says softly, holding out his hand so the puppy can sniff it as much as he pleases. After the initial assessment, he apparently comes to the conclusion that Harry’s alright, because he inches closer and looks up at him expectantly. Harry raises one of his eyebrows and starts petting him; satisfied, he settles down and lets himself bask in the attention and affection. “Well, aren’t you sweet?” he murmurs.

“Are you talking to yourself?” Nick calls from the kitchen. Harry ignores him and gently picks up the puppy, situates him on his chest. He watches, amazed, as after a moment of resumed stroking, he closes his eyes and dozes off. It feels like approval and, remembering Louis’ words, Harry can’t help but feel a bit pleased and smug about it all. 

When Nick comes back, Stinky is sprawled on Harry, soundly asleep once more, and Harry’s in the middle of creating a comprehensive list of all the reasons why getting a dog is not a good idea at this stage in his life. 

Nick pauses on his way to the sofa and blinks at them.

“How did you do that?” he demands. 

“Do what?” Harry asks absently, not looking up from the snoring dog. He hears Nick setting the mugs down on the table and feels him sitting down next to him. 

“He usually doesn’t take to people so easily,” Nick says. “Both of my dogs, God knows why, decided that Tomlinson is the best person to ever exist, but even with him, it took a bit of time for Stinky to come around.”

Harry shrugs, trying not to show just how weirdly happy that turn of events makes him. “I still can’t believe you called him Stinky,” he tells Nick. “He’s far too cute for that.”

“It’s Stinky Baby, technically,“ Nick amends. “I can’t believe both of my dogs chose fucking popstars over me. They just want the attention. Doing it for the fame. I’m not good enough for them when you two are around. Unbelievable.”

“Did anyone ever tell you you’re quite dramatic?” Harry asks, finally looking up at Nick, who rolls his eyes in response. “Maybe they know you’re very fond of both of us and are just taking after you,” he suggests, keeping his voice light, even as apprehension twists in his stomach. 

“I hate both of you, actually, so it’s definitely not that,” Nick informs him, and though Harry’s fully aware he’s not saying it seriously, it still makes him drop his gaze, start picking at one of the cushions.  

“I was worried about that, you know,” he says quietly, “about you hating me or just— I don’t know. Not wanting to be my friend anymore. I’m still worried, in fact.”

Silence stretches out between them and Harry tries not to regret bringing it up and ruining the mainly comfortable, easy atmosphere they’ve had going on throughout most of the day, encountering only a few bumps in the road. It’s always been easy to be around Nick, to be his friend and fall into the dynamic of joking and teasing and feeling at ease, and it seemed like Louis’ presence only made it even more so.

“We're not fifteen,” Nick says finally. “Life gets in the way. I understand that. I also understand other… circumstances, if you will, that changed things between us. But I don't particularly care about having this conversation if you're planning on fucking off to LA in a week and going back to not talking to me."

Harry tries not to raise to the bait and fails. “You didn’t reach out to me either,” he says, letting some of his bitterness out. They both fucked up. They both could have tried harder. Knowing that doesn’t change anything now.

“Well, I wasn't the one who avoided my home country and friends because of sleeping with someone, was I?”

Harry flinches, stung. “Fuck you, Nick. You know it wasn't that simple. And you didn't hesitate much before replacing me with Louis, did you?”

“What can I say, apparently being dumped by Harry Styles is a good bonding experience.”

Harry tips his head back against the back of the couch and stares at the ceiling. He doesn’t have an answer — the words hurt and he knows that was the intention, the pain intensified by the punch landing right on the already exposed, vulnerable part of him. Nick knows exactly how to do that, because he knows Harry, knows how to push his buttons and make it bruise. The thing about that, though, is that Harry also knows Nick, knows that he’s purposefully attempting to hurt Harry, to push him away, so he can protect himself. They all have their own ways of dealing with those things and Nick had been burnt by people way too many times in the past not to be cautious now. Harry understands that, even if the thought of him belonging to that group himself makes him struggle to speak.

The puppy stirs on his chest and whines quietly. Harry, grateful for the distraction, goes back to petting him and watches as he slowly calms back down, still asleep. He wonders if he’s having nightmares. He wonders if he can feel how restless Harry is. He wonders if Nick is looking at him, wonders what’s going through his head.

“You didn’t have to invite me, you know,” he says eventually, and his voice comes out just slightly too loud in the silence of the room. He looks at Nick. “You didn’t even know I was coming to England. _I_ didn’t know I was coming to England. But you still told Louis to ask. Why?”

There are probably better ways to go about this. Something more subtle, more careful, not so plain and direct. They could go ahead and insult each other, throw in some accusations and remarks they don’t really mean but which would hit all of the insecurities and worries perfectly. They could ignore it all and drink their tea and go back to the way things were before Louis showed up at Harry’s doorstep and turned certain parts of Harry’s life upside down, go back to meeting a couple of times a year and sending few texts in between. They could pretend nothing ever happened. They could do a lot of things, but Harry’s fucking tired of it all, and he just wants his best friend back. He thinks Nick reciprocates the sentiment.

“Nick—“

“How do you know I did? Maybe Louis just made it up because he wanted you to come and I didn’t have a choice.”

“Nick.”

“Harry.” It seems like it takes Nick a lot of effort to keep up the eye contact. After a brief pause, he visibly deflates and lets out a breath, runs his hand down his face. “What do you want me to say?”

“I don’t know,” Harry says quietly. “The truth, I suppose.”

“And it’s that simple, is it?”

“I don’t know,” Harry repeats. “But I know that I missed you. You know exactly what to say to hurt me, as you’ve already proven, but I don’t want to play some stupid mind games with you. Like you said, we’re not fifteen anymore. Just tell me what you want from me. If it’s to fuck off and leave you alone, I can…” He pauses, takes a steadying breath. He doesn’t want to lose Nick any more than he already has. But, still. “I can respect that.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Nick snaps. “It’s going to take a bit more than some silence for you to get rid of me.”

Encouraged by the statement, Harry nudges Nick gently. “See? It’s a start.”

Nick bats his hand away, but it’s obvious that the annoyance is just a front. “Don’t talk to me like you’re my therapist, Styles.” After a second, he adds, “I’m sorry about what I said before. I think Louis would punch me in the face if he heard me say that to you.”

Harry ignores the last sentence, because he reckons it’s just Nick’s attempt to change the subject. “I’m sorry, too. Will you tell me now? Why you invited me?”

Nick sighs, clearly feeling slightly uncomfortable about the whole thing. “I was joking about that pouring our hearts out and crying thing, just so you know.”

Harry acknowledges that with a smile, but he doesn’t let Nick get away with it. If there’s one thing he’s learned, it’s that leaving things unsaid never leads to anything good. “Don’t worry, I don’t expect you to cry on my shoulder.”

“Did you maybe change your mind about kissing and making up after we’re appropriately drunk instead of having this whole being open with our feelings situation?”

“Somehow I don’t think Louis would appreciate coming here to find us pissed and making out on your couch,” Harry says. Nick raises one of his eyebrows and the look on his face is almost pensive; it makes Harry squirm slightly. “What?”

“Nothing,” Nick replies and Harry instantly knows it’s bullshit. He wonders whether he should ask, whether he even wants to know. “Absolutely nothing. I don’t reckon he would, no. Looks like we don’t have a choice.” He glances at the tea on the table and then reaches for the bottle of wine, pours himself another glass and takes a sip. “C’mon, then. Update me on your life. Hit me with the feelings. Give me some gossip for the radio.”

He does.

He’s not sure how long they spend just talking quietly, explaining and sharing and bringing each other up to date, but by the time Louis comes back, flushed from the cold and slightly out of breath, they’re watching the telly and Harry feels like a lot of weight has been taken off his shoulders.

“Finally,” Nick says, getting to his feet. “We were waiting for you to order food. Did you walk to the other side of London? Manchester? Back to Donny?”

“Pig and I were contemplating running away together, but we decided that you love us too much and your life would be too empty and miserable without us,” Louis tells him mock-solemnly. “And I want pizza.”

“What a surprise,” Nick says wryly. “I long for the days you were just another pretty face in the sea of celebrities.”

“Don’t be fucking rude, Nick,” Louis replies, dropping to the couch next to Harry. “Go order our food. And feed Pig.”

“You know what, Styles? You can take him. He’s all yours,” Nick says and disappears in the kitchen. Louis snorts and turns around to face Harry.

“Taking him up on that offer?” He asks, the corner of his lips curling up into a smile, his eyes sparkling. Harry looks at him and thinks, _I want to kiss you_ and _stop this_ and _would you actually want to be mine?_

He doesn’t say any of it, of course. Instead, he smiles. “I’m all for the idea, but I think Nick would be actually very upset if I had you all to myself. I don’t think it would do our renewed friendship any favours.”

Louis’ eyes soften slightly and he reaches out to tug at the sleeve of Harry’s tee. “Yeah, about that. How did it go?”

Harry shrugs. “It was… okay. We talked about… well, about pretty much everything. I think— yeah, I think we’ll be alright.”

“Of course you will.” Louis nods. “I’m not putting up with both of you pining for each other.”

“Well, Nick did say we should just kiss and make up.”

Louis narrows his eyes slightly, amused. “Did he now,” he murmurs, glancing down at Harry’s lips for such a brief moment that Harry wonders whether he just imagined it. He’s suddenly painfully aware of the place where their legs are touching. “And why didn’t you?”

He doesn’t look away from Louis’ eyes. “Who says we didn’t?” he asks casually. Very casually. The most casually. God.

Louis laughs. “Oh, is that so?”

“Jealous?” Harry asks, going for joking and teasing, even as his heart pounds in his chest hard enough he’s afraid Louis can hear it. He has no idea what he’s attempting here, what they’re both doing. It might be a huge misstep on his part.

But instead of replying, Louis just smirks at him and shrugs, reaches around Harry to pick up Stinky and place him on his lap. “Did you manage to charm him?” he asks, like that’s what they’ve been talking about all along.

Harry’s not sure how he’s supposed to take that, but he goes along with it nonetheless.

“Didn’t really have to,” he replies. “He moved to sleep on me almost right after you left.”

Louis raises his eyebrows. “That’s… unexpected.”

“Is it?” Nick asks, joining them in the room again. “He’s practically a dog version of you, Tomlinson, of course he immediately decides that Harry is his favourite human being. How long did it take you two to become joined at the hip? Two seconds from when you first laid eyes on each other?”

Harry attempts to hide his smile behind his hand, while Louis doesn’t. He openly grins at Nick and throws one of the cushions at him, mindful of startling the puppy. “Aw, Nick, there’s no need to be jealous.”

“Besides,” Harry chimes in, “it also took _us_ like five seconds for you to invite me to your party and make me meet all of your other friends. You have no room to talk.”

Nick hums. “That’s true. You were quite smitten with me, weren’t you, Harold?”

“Obviously.” Harry rolls his eyes, even though he _was_. He was fascinated with Nick and Nick’s friends and Nick’s lifestyle. He still remembers the first time they went out together and he met Daisy and Aimee and Rita and everyone, and how much they made him feel like he belonged, like these people cared about _him_ and not the persona of Harry Styles, like they just wanted all of them to have fun together. “I think it was your hair that really caught my attention. I was envious of your quiff.”

“As you should be.”

“I’m only here for your dogs,” Louis jumps in. “Just in case you forgot. I’m actually pretty sure I insulted your hair during that charity event we both went to.”

“You know, your insults don’t really leave the same impression when you invite me out for drinks afterwards and then spend the night on my couch and proceed to drink _my_ coffee in the morning without asking.”

Louis waves his hand dismissively. “Unnecessary details.”

Nick turns to Harry. “Do you remember all those times you talked about how great Louis is and how we should be friends? I think it was false advertising. Can I still return him?”

Instead of answering him, Harry says to Louis, amused, “He really is quite fond of you.”

Louis grins. “He is, isn’t he? He loves me dearly.”

“I hate both of you so much,” Nick sighs and sits on the couch next to Harry.

“Nah, you love us, really,” Harry says, light and teasing, but Nick once again proves that he knows him better than that: even as he shakes his head and grumbles under his breath about annoying popstars, he reaches out and squeezes Harry’s hand, reassuring.

_Yeah, I do._

~*~

Jay hugs him as soon as she steps inside, with no hesitation or uncertainty, and it means more to Harry than he could possibly ever explain. He hugs her back, breathes in the comforting smell of her perfume that she hasn’t changed over the years, and squeezes his eyes shut so he doesn’t tear up and embarrass himself in front of everyone.

“It’s so good to see you, darling,” she says when they pull apart. “Louis mentioned that maybe you would have to go back to Los Angeles before today.”

Harry nods. “I’m flying back tonight. Work’s waiting for me and I wouldn’t want to intrude on your family time.”

Jay frowns. “Don’t be silly, we’re all happy to see you. You don’t have to leave on our behalf, there’s a place for everyone.”

“I told him that.” Louis puts his arm around his mum’s shoulders and presses a kiss to her cheek. “I wasn’t able to convince him, though. He’s as stubborn as you remember him.”

“Still less stubborn than you, then,” Jay replies and ignores Louis’ squawk of protest. “Are you sure you can’t stay any longer, Harry?”

Harry offers her an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry, but not this time. We’ll see each other again soon enough, though, I promise.”

“Make sure we do. You both might be adults now, but I’m not above calling Anne and playing the Mum card,” she tells them sternly and then pats Harry’s shoulder. “I’m dying for a cuppa. You can take care of proper introductions, Lou.”

Only then does Harry notice the two shy faces hovering in the doorway behind her, accompanied by Phoebe and Daisy, who wave and smile at Harry before moving along, and Lottie whose smile looks a bit strained.

“Fiz couldn’t make it today. She said she didn’t feel too bad considering you’ll have a full house to deal with anyway,” she explains. “And Dan’s coming after work. Hello, Harry.”

Harry’s not sure how to read her voice or expression — there’s nothing overly cold or impolite about it, but it’s laced with something that suggest to Harry that she’s not exactly pleased to see him, which is— well, it’s a bit surprising, considering she’s never showed any of this before, in all the times they’ve seen each other over the years. He’s slightly taken aback, if he’s being honest, but he tries not to show it as he returns the greeting.

“Doris, Ernest, say hello,” Louis says, beckoning them closer. They’re wearing outfits that at first glance look completely different, but the longer Harry looks, the more he notices all the ways the colours and patterns match and complement each other. Harry’s almost completely sure it was Lottie’s work. “This is Harry. You know who Harry is, don’t you?”

They both nod, even though there’s no way for them to remember Harry as _just_ Harry; he held them almost right after they were born and even changed their nappies a few times, and when they were older, he sometimes played with them and entertained them when Jay brought them along to one of the concerts or other events involving One Direction. It all happened when they were no more than two years old, though, and they have absolutely no recollection of that now. What they can know is stories, Harry Styles from One Direction, their big brother’s bandmate, and Harry Styles who possibly sometimes shows up on their screens or comes up in conversations, and realising that breaks his heart a bit. Still, he crouches down and smiles at them, reaches out to shake their hands.

Doris turns out to be the more confident one. As Ernest moves closer to Louis, she steps forward and grasps Harry’s hand with a serious expression, like it’s a moment of utter importance and she’s all grown up. Harry tries not to find it absolutely endearing and fails.

“It’s very nice to meet you, Doris,” he tells her solemnly. “I like your dress.”

“Pink’s my favourite colour,” she says and a small smile breaks out on her face.

“Oh, really? It’s my favourite colour, too,” Harry reveals and that seems to be enough for her to instantly consider Harry one of her friends. Friendship based on a mutual appreciation for the colour pink sounds like a solid decision to Harry.

“My room is pink,” she informs him excitedly. “And Lottie put pink in my hair once!”

“Oh wow, that’s very cool. My hair’s never been pink.” He turns his attention to Ernest, who’s watching the two of them curiously. “What about you, mate?”

“His favourite colour’s green,” Doris announces. “He didn’t have green hair, though.”

“Green’s a good choice.” Harry offers him a smile, which Ernest matches with his own. It feels a bit like an accomplishment. “Very pretty.”

“I like pink, too,” Ernest says and pauses for a second before adding, “And I like your hair.”

“I think our hair is pretty similar, huh? Are you growing yours out as well? I’m quite jealous of your curls.”

As Ernest’s smile grows, Louis mutters, “I give it two days before he asks for headscarves now,” feigning exasperation, but when Harry glances up at him, the fondness on his face tells a different story. “Do you want to show Harry your room here? We have a bit of time before lunch.”

Doris jumps and nods vigorously, skips further inside, leading the way. Ernest, on the other hand, glances at Louis, biting his lip, and when he gets a nod and an encouraging smile, he slips his hand into Harry’s. Harry looks at Louis, surprised, and Louis bites down on his smile.

“Are you coming?” Doris calls before any of them can say anything, already halfway up the stairs. Harry keeps looking at Louis for another second or two, filled with a mix of emotions he tries to take under control, but feels like are displayed all over his face anyway, and moves before Doris gets impatient again.

~*~

When Louis comes to find them once lunch is ready, Doris is wearing a princess gown, Ernest is dressed like a pirate and attempting to do something with Harry’s hair and a bunch of ribbons and clips, and Harry’s lap is full of dolls. Also, his nails (and some of the skin around them) are painted soft pink. He reckons they’re about three minutes away from putting lipstick on him, but he also can’t say that he’s not having fun.

“Is Harry a princess?” Louis inquires, taking in the scene in front of him.

“We’re all princesses,” Doris replies. “Ernest is a pirate princess.”

Louis nods, like that’s exactly the answer he was expecting. “I see. Well, you all look lovely, but I’m afraid I have to cut this princess meeting short, as the food is ready.”

It takes a bit of convincing, but eventually Doris and Ernest head downstairs and Harry heaves himself up from the floor, attempting to take everything out of his hair at the same time.

One of the hair ties gets stuck in his hair and he grimaces, attempting to untangle it without pulling half of his hair out along with it. He has no idea what hairstyle they were going for and there’s no way it won’t leave his hair in a very messy state, even once everything is out. “Lovely, eh?”

Louis smiles. “It’s not as bad as you’re imagining,” he says and takes one of Harry’s hands into his, examines his nails. “Could be a bit neater, but considering their age, I think they did a very good job with this part. Definitely lovely, overall.”

“To be fair, I’m not much better when I do it myself. Especially on my right hand. And I’m pretty sure Alex got me the exact same colour of nail polish once.”

“Well, it’s very pretty,” Louis tells him and lets go of his hand. “Usually they do it to me.”

“Are you not a fan?” Harry asks as they start walking down to the kitchen together.

Louis shrugs. “I don’t care about wearing it for myself, it’s not really something I express myself through or anything. But it’s fun for them and I don’t mind. It makes them happy and I always tell them I love it anyway.”

Warmth spreads from the centre of Harry’s chest throughout his entire body, burning his veins and reaching the tips of his fingers, which he has to clench at his sides, so he doesn’t do anything stupid, like reach out and touch Louis.

“Do they practise their makeup skills on you too?”

Louis laughs. “Oh, yes. The princess phrase is very strong and includes everyone. I think Mum has some pictures on her phone, you should ask her about it. I’ve been told I look quite dashing with a copper eyeshadow on.”

Harry thinks Louis looks quite dashing always, but it’s not really one of the things he should say out loud. He smirks. “Maybe I’ll ask for a live presentation then, instead of just looking at pictures.”

“You’re not getting out of your own makeover that easily, Styles, don’t even try,” Louis replies as they step into the kitchen. Everyone is already sitting down; there’s one empty chair between Daisy and Ernest and another one next to Jay. As Harry moves towards the first one, Louis catches his hand and stops him. “You missed one,” he says, stepping closer, and gently tugs at something apparently still attached to the back of Harry’s hair. It turns out to be a pastel green ribbon that Louis proceeds to tie on Harry’s wrist. “Here you go.”

Harry blinks down at the ribbon a few times before he snaps out of it, realising that everyone’s watching him, and he sits down, his face warm.

As the conversation breaks out around the table and everyone starts to eat, he meets Lottie’s eyes for the briefest of moments. She immediately looks away, her lips pressed into a thin line, and Harry wonders how long it’ll take her to say whatever is on her mind, and whether he should already start preparing himself for it.

~*~

It takes around another two hours.

After lunch, they all move to the lounge. Louis puts on a film for the kids and catches up with his sisters, while Harry talks to Jay. He’s surprised by just how lovely and warm she is towards him; he’s never expected her to make him feel horrible, but Harry knows how close she is with Louis and he was ready for... something. For her to be more closed off and distant, cautious around Harry, unsure about his place in Louis’ life. If she is any of those things, though, she doesn’t show it — she talks to him just like she always has, kind and supportive, and just overwhelmingly _good_ , not making Harry feel unwelcome even for a second.

Lottie, on the other hand, seems to be quietly observing every single one of his interactions with Louis, which is more than a bit unnerving.

Finally, when everyone else besides the three of them has spread around the whole house, she snaps. Harry’s standing next to one of the shelves, putting all of the DVDs Doris and Ernest were going through back in place, and Louis comes up to him, rests his hand on the small of Harry’s back while passing him the glass of water Harry asked for. Harry doesn’t know if it’s the gesture or their closeness or simply everything leading up to it that makes her ask:

“Are you two sleeping together again, then?”

Harry, who was in the middle of taking a sip, chokes and struggles to catch his breath. “ _What?_ ”

“No, we’re not,” Louis says calmly.

“We’re just friends,” Harry adds, even though saying that makes him feel like he’s a kid who has to explain himself to his parents for something he didn’t even do.

Lottie narrows her eyes. “Are you sure? Are you sure that’s all you want it to be? Do you—”

“Lottie,” Louis interrupts her lowly, warningly.

“What?” she asks, challenge clear in her voice. They look at each other, having a silent conversation that Harry has no chance of understanding. Not even bothering to try and figure out whatever they’re trying to tell each other without actually speaking, he just watches them and waits.

Finally, Louis shakes his head slightly and lets out a long breath.

“I appreciate your concern, but our relationship is absolutely none of your business,” he says quietly, and that’s… definitely not what Harry was expecting. “I’m not a child, I can make my own decisions. Leave him be.”

For a second, it looks like Lottie is going to argue, but ultimately she sets her jaw and nods courtly, obviously still not happy with the situation, but apparently not willing to fight with Louis about it.

“It’s fine,” Harry finds himself saying. They both turn to him. “If you have something to say to me, just do so. Get it off your chest.”

“How do I know I can trust you?” she instantly asks, and Harry tries to ignore the sad twist in his chest the question causes.

“You don’t,” he replies simply. “There’s no way for me to prove that you can. Maybe you will, with time. But I know that you trust Louis, and whether he wants me in his life or not is his choice to make.”

“Yeah, trusting you turned out really well for him last time,” she says, her tone sharp and cutting, but Harry doesn’t flinch. He understands where she’s coming from; she feels protective over Louis, and she has every reason to. He doesn’t know if he himself will ever fully forgive himself for what he did, but he knows that he’s learned from it, and he’s not going to let the past hinder the future. “His judgement has never been too good when it comes to you.”

“I’m still right here, you know,” Louis interjects, but Lottie doesn’t take her eyes off Harry.

Harry nods. “I know you’re worried I’m going to hurt him again,” he says softly and, regardless of the interruption, he’s super aware that it’s not only Lottie listening to his words, and that he could easily say too much, give away things he shouldn’t. “I wish I could promise you that I won’t but that’s just not how life works. Sometimes you hurt people you—“ _love_ , “—care about. I was—”

“Don’t even dare say ‘young’,” she interrupts. “I’m the same age you were and that’s not an excuse.”

“It’s not,” Harry agrees. He smiles tightly. “I also never said you weren’t smarter than me. But, no, what I was going to say was scared. I was scared.”

Lottie regards him for a moment before her expression loses some of its bite, and when she speaks, her voice isn’t unkind. “Are you scared now?”

Harry worries about a lot of things; nothing is certain and there are endless possibilities, endless paths, and answers, and decisions, and all of them are going to turn out good in some ways and bad in others. For the longest time the thought that he was in complete control of his life and what he was going to do with it depended entirely on his own choices was paralysing and terrifying. With time he’s learned to use that fear to drive him, though, to take the freedom it brings as something positive. It doesn’t change the fact that he’s still scared shitless sometimes, contemplating everything, and that the fear extends to Louis and their relationship as well. It all has the possibility to go horribly wrong and Harry would have to be blind not to see it.

He knows that’s not what she’s actually asking.

“No,” he replies. “I needed time to figure everything out, to figure _myself_ out. I don’t want you—more importantly, I don’t want Louis to doubt that having him in my life means a lot to me. Because it does.”

When Harry glances at Louis, he can’t decipher the emotions flickering across his face. He swallows and looks back at Lottie.

“I can’t say I’m fully okay with this,” she says finally. “But like Louis said, he can make his own decisions. But if you—”

“I know, Lottie. If I fuck up that badly again, I expect you to kick my arse. Gemma will probably help you with that.”

“Probably,” she agrees. She seems to think about something for another moment before she reaches for her bag and takes out a small envelope, which, once opened, turns out to be the wedding invitation. “I might as well give this to you now. Do continue to be friends at least until my wedding, will you? I don’t need even more stress in my life.”

Harry recognises it as the peace offering it is and smiles. “We’ll do our best. And thank you.”

Louis snorts. “Now I see where all this concern was coming from, Lots. You just don’t want us to ruin your sitting arrangement,” he teases, but he still moves closer and presses a kiss to her temple, murmurs, “Thanks.”

Lottie rolls her eyes and pushes him away. “Get off. Since mum would probably be cross with me for drinking wine so early, I’m going to need at least a pot of tea after this,” she declares and walks towards the kitchen. Before she leaves the room, though, she pauses in the doorway. “Don’t do anything stupid, Styles. It’ll be also mum and Ern and Doris you’ll be disappointing now.”

“No pressure, then,” Harry mutters, mostly to himself. He starts when he feels Louis’ hand on his waist.

“Harry, listen, I—“

Harry doesn’t find out how that sentence was going to end. As they hear a commotion coming from the direction of the stairs and can distinguish Ernest’s excited voice somewhere in the middle of it, Louis sighs, sends Harry a rueful smile and swiftly steps back, just as Ernest and Doris burst into the room and barely manage to stop before running straight into them.

“Can we make cupcakes, Lou? Mum said we can if you say so!”

Even though Harry can see that Louis is slightly frustrated with the interruption, he doesn’t let his siblings feel even a trace of it. “Hmm, I don’t know,” he muses, pretending to have to think about it, which results in a bunch of _please_ ’s from both of the kids and a list of arguments why it’s _the best_ idea. Eventually, Louis’ thoughtful front breaks and he ruffles their hair. “Alright, alright. What do you say, Harry? Do you want to make cupcakes with us?”

Harry has no idea how someone could say no to anything while faced with Louis’ smile and the set of excited, expectant faces of the Deakin kids.

He grins. “Did you know I used to be a baker?”

Louis laughs and groans at the same time, hiding his face in his hands. Doris instantly bombards Harry with questions.

~*~

When it comes to saying goodbyes, Harry gets a hug from everyone (even Lottie cracks a smile and tells him that maybe they’ll see each other when she’s in Los Angeles), and Ernest asks if he’ll come visit them back home soon.

Harry’s heart swells.

“We’ll see, mate,” he replies. “You have to ask your mum and brother about it.”

Ernest promptly turns his big, eager eyes on Jay. “Mummy?”

Jay chuckles. “Harry’s always welcome at our house, love.”

Apparently very happy with that answer, Ernest nods and beams. “I’ll show you all my drawings! And the castle on my wall!”

The pure joy on his face is enough to make Harry feel excited about the prospect, too. “I can’t wait.”

Louis walks him to the door. This time, in a stark contrast to when they were doing this last time, Harry doesn’t hesitate to hug Louis, burying his face in Louis’ neck and closing his eyes. It makes his stomach feel all funny and squirmy; he can feel himself starting to miss him already and he hasn’t even stepped outside yet.

“We’ll see each other again soon enough,” Louis says, like he can hear what Harry’s thinking. Or maybe he’s feeling the same way — they fell into a bit of a routine together, and it’ll probably be weird to find themselves on their own again. “Your birthday in LA, yeah?”

Harry takes a step back and runs his fingers through his hair. “Yeah. You can finally meet Kate and Alex.” Quietly, he asks, “Do you think Lottie will come?”

“Maybe. Give her a bit of time, she’ll come around.”

Harry lets out a long breath, nods. “Well, we have all the time in the world. You’re not getting rid of me now, I hope you know that.”

Louis smiles easily, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Good thing I’m not planning on it at all, then.”

~*~

His house feels overwhelmingly empty and silent when he gets there, but he knows it’s just a matter of time and not dwelling on it too much. He texts his mum, and Louis, and Nick, letting them know he got home safe, invites Kate and Alex for dinner in a few days, makes a snack and drags himself upstairs. Not bothering to unpack, he drops on the bed and falls asleep.

Over the next days, he settles back into the place and the timezone and the quietness, makes some work plans and, in the safety of his own space, allows himself to think about Louis.

There’s no way out of this, is the thing. He’s doomed, because the only way to get rid of the feelings that have taken up — what seems to be permanent — residence in his heart, is to cut Louis off completely, and that’s definitely not something Harry is going to do this time around. The one option he can see right now is to accept it and get on with his life. He doesn’t want to risk losing Louis again, and friendship has to be enough. _Is_ enough. With time it’ll get better, he tells himself. It’ll lessen, the feelings and the way his entire being seems to be yearning for Louis. He’ll get used to it, to the way he can’t really stop thinking about Louis and to feeling _so much_ for someone that he has no idea how it all manages to fit inside his chest. He should’ve expected it, really, what with their shared past and Louis always being _more_ than any other person Harry’s come across, but it doesn’t matter now. He’s here and it’s happening, but it’s going to be fine. It has to be; Harry won’t let it be anything else.

There are things, moments and glances and smiles, that make him wonder, make him think _what if_ , but he pushes them away before he can get ahead of himself. He’s always been good at breaking his own heart and he doesn’t want a repeat of that.

He goes to sleep being in love with Louis and he wakes up being in love with Louis, and the world doesn’t end, but it’s like now that he let himself think about it and actually _feel_ it, he can’t stop.

There’s one way he’s been dealing with his thoughts and emotions since he was thirteen and it hasn’t failed him yet, so he reaches for his journal and tries to turn all of it into words, nostalgic and bittersweet and hopeful all at once. He doesn’t stop to think about it, just pours his heart and soul into them, and once he’s done, he doesn’t look back, doesn’t read them over. He leaves them as they are, imperfect and raw and half-finished, but one hundred percent real and honest.

When Kate and Alex arrive, it takes Kate approximately five minutes to figure out that something happened, but, to her credit, she doesn’t immediately ask about it. She gets all of the required politeness and standard questions out of the way first, and even answers a few of Harry’s own.

“Alright, spill.” She points her fork at Harry and regards him carefully. “What is it? Is it about Nick? Did you and Louis have a fight? Did something happen?”

“No, no, and… you could say that?” He answers slowly. He doesn’t think there’s any point in trying to deny that. Firstly, because she knows him far too well for him to be able to pull it off and avoid giving her answers, but also because he kind of wants to talk about it. Maybe.

“Do you need us to get you drunk first? Because we can totally do that,” Alex offers, smirking. Harry flips her off, making her laugh.

“C’mon, what’s up? Did you fall in love with Louis or something?” Kate asks, obviously joking. Harry takes another sip of his wine. And one more. Maybe he really should be drunk for this conversation.

Kate gapes at him. Even Alex sits up straight from where she was sprawled on the couch.

“Harry,” she says. He keeps resolutely staring at the label on the bottle of wine. “Harry— please tell me you didn’t sleep with him.”

“I— what? Of course I didn’t! Do you really think— Besides, he doesn’t—” Harry swallows, doesn’t finish, but it’s clear enough what he was going to say.

Silence falls over them. Kate’s the one to eventually break it.

“Oh, Harry,” she sighs. “Why do you always get yourself into these situations? What are you going to do?”

“Nothing,” he says, finally meeting her eyes. He doesn’t find any pity there, just like he knew he wouldn’t, and that’s one of the reasons why he knew he could trust her, them, with this. “I don’t— what’s important to me is having him in my life and being part of his. Any way he’ll have me, you know? I can’t expect anything else.”

“That’s gonna be painful as fuck,” Alex says bluntly. Harry laughs.

“There is literally no solution for this situation that won’t hurt. But it’s alright. It’s okay he doesn’t feel the same.”

“Are you sure?” Kate asks gently. “That it’s one-sided?”

Harry thinks about the countdown and the fireworks and Louis’ eyes dropping to Harry’s mouth. He thinks about spending their entire days together, moments that made his heart beat harder, all the casual touches that sometimes felt completely unnecessary and like something Louis simply wanted to do. The truth is, he isn’t sure. He doesn’t know, because he knows what it’s like to be wanted by Louis, to be loved by him, but he’s never been in a situation like this before. Their relationship is more complicated than most and sometimes everything just blurs together and creates a confusing mess.

“It doesn’t matter,” he answers, because ultimately, regardless of everything else, that’s the truth. Kate furrows her eyebrows while Alex watches on without saying a word, expression thoughtful.

“What do you mean?”

“It doesn’t matter, because even if he did, he would have to be the one— after everything that happened between us, if we were ever to— he would have to be the one to make that decision, to take the first step. So it doesn’t matter what I feel or think, unless he, well...” Harry shrugs. If it was anyone else, maybe Harry would risk it and take the chance. If their past wasn’t what it is, maybe he would then, too. Considering everything, though, he doesn’t think it’s an option, not one he’s willing to do anything about.

Kate nods in understanding. “You don’t think it would be fair of you to tell him how you feel.”

“I think I have no fucking idea what I’m doing, mostly. Feel free to say ‘I told you so’ any time you feel like it, by the way. Fully deserved.”

“We leave you alone for a few weeks and you go and do something like this,” Alex says, shaking her head. “I think we might need something stronger than wine tonight.”

“Alex,” Kate reprimands her quietly. “Maybe a bit more empathy?”

“It’s honestly fine,” Harry says and Kate looks at him doubtfully. “Well, maybe it’s not, but would you prefer I was crying and complaining about how terrible and unfair everything is?”

“Of course not, but I don’t think you’re as okay with this as you want us to believe you are. I just don’t want to see you hurt.”

Harry reaches out for her and tugs at her hand until she sits next to him and hugs him.

“I don’t want you to believe anything. I’m scared like hell,” he admits quietly and he can feel her arms tighten around him at the words. “We’re too good at breaking each other’s hearts.”

“You’re good at loving each other, too, though,” she replies softly.

“Loving him has always been the easy part. It’s just that everything else always got in the way.”

“And yet somehow you’re still here. Despite everything else.”

“Are you _trying_ to get my hopes up?”

“I think you’re not telling us everything and there are reasons why you didn’t say that it’s unrequited. I do want you to be careful, though.”

The corner of Harry’s mouth twitches. “Potential for a disaster?”

“Lots of it, yeah.” Kate presses a kiss to the top of his head and pulls back so she can look him in the eyes. “I’m here if you ever need to talk about it, yeah? Even if it _is_ to complain about the world being unfair. I won’t judge.”

“I can always get drunk with you and only judge a little,” Alex quips. “Or find you a nice boy to go on a date with.”

Kate rolls her eyes and Harry snorts.

“Thank you, Lex, that’s very appreciated,” he replies. “Can you also make sure I don’t drink too much during my birthday party and do something dumb and potentially very embarrassing?”

“Harry,” Kate protests, “that’s like inviting her to see how many drinks she can get in you in the shortest amount of time possible. You know better than this.”

“I’m slightly worried about her meeting Louis and the amount of trouble those two could get up to together,” he tells her. “Kate, please make sure your wife behaves.”

“My wife is her own person and I’m not taking this responsibility.”

Alex pretends to be awfully affronted. “Hey, fuck off, I’m not that bad.”

“The last time you two got drunk together, Liam and I barely managed to get you both home. And Harry almost set himself on fire.”

“Almost being the key word there,” Harry points out, because even though it was mostly directed at Alex, he feels like he needs to defend himself at least in some way in this situation.

Alex shrugs. “It’s not my fault that Harry is a messy drunk and can’t handle his alcohol.”

“Excuse me, my alcohol tolerance is perfectly fine, thank you. It’s just keeping up with you that’s a problem.”

“That’s because I’m a superior human being, of course, and none of you could ever get on the same level.”

Harry sends Kate a long-suffering look, hoping she’ll sympathise with him at least a little. “Please don’t let her get together with Louis and Nick.”

Kate shakes her head, amused, and stands up, heading to the kitchen. “You’re all children and I’m not getting involved in any of this.”

“I’m going to ask Louis about all the embarrassing stories from the X Factor and tour,” Alex announces gleefully. “I bet you were very awkward and quirky when you were sixteen. More than you are now, I mean.”

“Haven’t you already interrogated Liam and Niall about all of that?” Harry asks, already resigned to his fate.

“Well, yes, but I’m sure Louis has some gems I haven’t heard about yet.”

“Lovely,” Harry sighs. “I can’t wait.”

For a second, Alex’s face sobers and she lightly pokes his thigh with her foot.

“Hey, you know I’m just taking the piss, yeah? I won’t meddle, not with something like this.”

Harry smiles. He does know; he trusts both of them immensely and if there’s one thing he’s sure of, it’s that they’re always on his side and have his back even when he does something stupid and gets himself into terrible situations. Falling in love with Louis probably counts as one.

“Does that mean you won’t question him?” He asks hopefully, even though he already knows the answer. It’s worth trying, he supposes.

Alex’s eyes gleam mischievously. “Oh no, _that’s_ not meddling. That’s just a standard procedure for all of your friends who meet me.”

“You just enjoy embarrassing me.”

Alex grins. “Have I ever claimed that it’s about anything else, babe?”

Harry throws one of the cushions at her, but she catches it easily, continues smiling all the while.

He has a feeling his birthday party might be an interesting one.

~*~

He spends the remaining days of January in the studio. During that time, he realises he’s found an incredible group of people to work with, and the idea of what he wants to achieve when it comes to his music and this entire project crystallises in his mind.

“Is it decided, then? A solo album?” Nick asks one morning when they’re talking on Skype. He’s in-between some meetings and, as he informed Harry when he called, he’d decided that critiquing Harry’s breakfast would be a good way to entertain himself while he waits.

They’ve been attempting to talk regularly, or at least as much as they can both manage with their schedules and considering the time difference, and it’s been working so far. They’re both trying and that’s what, for Harry, matters the most.

“I think so.” He’s already talked to Kate about it and everything seems to be in the process of happening and working itself out. There are emails and offers and plans, conversations and negotiations and _everything_ , and it’s both already giving him a headache and filling him with energy and enthusiasm, terrifying and exhilarating at the same time. “There’s no set date yet or anything but— I forgot just how much I love this, you know? We recorded bits of one of the songs yesterday and it made me miss being on stage a lot.”

"How many songs are ready to go, then?"

“I’m not sure. Lots of them are just bits and pieces, still unfinished. But the people I’ve been working with, they make it really easy to like… to make myself vulnerable, I guess? To open up and write about personal and meaningful things. So that’s good.”

Nick’s phone chirps and he glances at it briefly before returning his eyes to the laptop screen and smirking. "I hope you know I expect at least one song to be about me, popstar.”

“Of course.” Harry grins. “How could I not write something about our undying love?” He nods towards the phone. "Are you being summoned?”

“Still have a bit of time,” Nick replies. “And I can’t imagine you could, no. I’m obviously the most important person in your life.”

Harry raises his eyebrows. “I’d like to hear you say that in front of my mother.”

“Anne loves me, Styles,” Nick says, “don’t even try to suggest anything else.”

“I don’t doubt that at all. She’s very fond of you,” he agrees. “I’m just saying, she might oppose to you implying she’s not that person.”

Nick waves him off. “She would understand.”

“If you say so.”

“I do.” Nick nods. “And I’m always right.”

Harry snorts. “And always humble.”

“It’s one of my most endearing qualities, I know.”

Harry rolls his eyes. “You’re ridiculous, that’s what you are. I can’t wait to see you.”

“Missing me already?” Nick teases, but his eyes are warm and Harry knows he’s pleased to hear that, even if he won’t admit to it out loud.

“Louis told me you’re the one who’s missing me,” Harry informs him. “And that you’re planning on staying in LA for a bit after my party.”

“Louis is a liar and you should never trust him or listen to anything he says,” Nick responds immediately. “Also, do you two just talk to each other all the fucking time?” When Harry doesn’t reply, just keeps looking at him pointedly, he heaves a sigh. “Yes, I do want to spend more time with you than just one — possibly very hungover — weekend if I’m flying all the way to California. Are you happy now?”

Harry clutches his heart and pretends to swoon, even as his chest floods with affection. "Aw, Nick, that’s so sweet.” He chuckles when Nick flips him off and adds, “Honestly, though, thanks. I’m glad you’re coming and I’m excited to spend more than a day with you.”

“Of course you do, I’m a delight to be around,” Nick says, distracted by his phone again. Harry watches as he furrows his eyebrows and quickly types out a reply before looking up. “I’m afraid I have to go if I still want to have a job. I’m also meeting Louis for dinner later and I’ll have some stern words with him about discussing me behind my back.”

"Sure you will. And he’ll definitely take it to heart,” Harry says, attempting to keep a straight face and failing. Nick narrows his eyes at him and ends the call without saying another word. After a few seconds, though, Harry gets a text saying _louis is a bad influence on you_ followed by _see you soon, dickhead xx_ and he sends back a row of heart emojis, smiling to himself.

~*~

Louis and Liam arrive together on his actual birthday, which falls on Monday this year.

“Harry, I would die for some coffee,” is the first thing Louis says when they step inside. He looks exhausted, bleary-eyed and with bags under his eyes that suggest it’s not only because of the flight, and Harry knows he’s been working himself too hard again. Every single time they talked, Louis sounded like he’d either just woken up or was about to pass out and Harry repeated way too many times that he needs to slow down or he’ll just completely burn himself out. Apparently it fell on deaf ears.

“No hello? No happy birthday?” Harry asks, pretending to be offended. Louis bites down on his smile and drops his bags to the floor, pulls Harry into a hug.

“Happy birthday, Haz,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to Harry’s cheek before stepping back. “I promise better wishes later on, when my brain isn’t half-dead, yeah?”

“You should’ve written me a song,” Harry replies, reeling in the urge to touch the place where Louis’ lips were just mere seconds ago with his fingertips. He’s not sixteen, for fuck’s sake. “Lots of metaphors and all that. There might be a pot of coffee waiting in the kitchen, by the way.”

Louis is walking even before Harry finishes speaking. “You’re an angel, I could honestly kiss you right now. Definitely deserves a song,“ he calls over his shoulder absently. Harry takes a deep breath, does his best not to think about it, and waits for the sound of Louis picking out a mug before he turns to face Liam, who’s watching him with his eyebrows raised.  

“I don’t even know if I should ask.”

“The only thing you should be doing right now is hugging me and telling me how much you missed me,” Harry tells him and Liam instantly does as he’s told.

“I did miss you,” he says. “I think I should be back in LA more permanently now, so get ready to get sick of seeing me soon.”

“Don’t hold your breath,” Harry advises, because if there’s one thing he’s learned after five years in the band and even more of their friendship in general, it’s that they can spend ungodly amounts of time together and somehow still not drive each other completely mad. It’s an actual skill, he reckons. “Come on, let’s see if Louis left us any coffee. There’s also breakfast, if you’re interested.”

They spend the morning in the lounge, eating and talking, and after a third time Louis jerks himself awake, apparently immune to caffeine by now, Harry sighs.

“Honestly, Lou, just go to sleep. Take whichever room you want.”

“I’m fine,” Louis protests. “I’m not going to sleep through half of your birthday.”

“How is you being dead on your feet any better? We literally talk every day, you already know everything I’m telling Liam about. We’ll go somewhere in the evening, once Niall arrives and Kate and Alex have time. Stop being stubborn and take a fucking nap.”

Begrudgingly, Louis stands up. “Come and wake me up if I’m not back in two hours, okay? I still want to sleep at night.”

“I will,” Harry promises. “I’ll wake you up for lunch.”

“Something’s different,” Liam says once it’s just the two of them.

Slowly, Harry turns towards him, trying to keep his face impassive. “What do you mean?”

“Between the two of you,” Liam explains. “Something’s different.”

 _Yeah, I guess you could say so_ , Harry thinks. What he says is, “Different from what? From how we acted the last time you saw us together? Which was after four years of not speaking to each other?”

Liam inclines his head. “Yeah, I guess you have a point,” he replies, but he doesn’t look fully convinced. Harry wonders just how fucking obvious he is to anyone who knows him, especially as well as Liam does.

He pokes Liam in the side. “Come on, then. Finish your story. I want to know how it ended.”

~*~

Alex and Louis get on as soon as introductions are done and over with. Harry listens to them discussing some place in Jamaica they both loved and then turns to Kate, appalled.

“Kate,” he says, “this is terrible.”

She just looks amused. “Most people would be happy about two of their best friends getting along well, I hope you know that.”

Harry glances back at them, at Louis’ smile and the way Alex’s eyes light up when she talks about her job, and he shakes his head.

“Terrible,” he repeats and Kate pats him on the back, laughing.

~*~

The first picture of the two of them together posted on one of their social media platforms is the one on Louis’ Instagram for Harry’s birthday.

He’s sitting right next to Harry when he does it — it’s not so much about the actual wishes, of course, it never really is. It’s a gesture, a way to share something with their fans and create a certain image, put something out there. Harry watches as Louis carefully chooses one from their dinner tonight, tries out different filters and fiddles with the caption for what feels like a hundred times before he finally settles on something, but Harry doesn’t point any of it out. It’s not really a big deal — they’ve already been papped together, after all, and tweeted each other, and there were also some pictures from Nick’s party. It’s not like it’s some kind of a secret that they’re friends again.

So it’s not really a big deal, but it also kind of is, and they both know it.

Louis’ finger hovers over the ‘post’ button for a solid minute as he glances over everything once more, meets Harry’s eyes, and presses it.

“Just don’t look at your comments,” Kate advises and Louis laughs.

“Oh, believe me, I know,” he replies, locks his phone and throws it on the other end of the couch.

He doesn’t pick it up for the rest of the night.

~*~

Harry’s sitting in one of the kitchen chairs, staring out of the window and at nothing in particular, watching as the sun slowly starts making its way onto the sky, showering everything in a dim light, when Louis stumbles into the kitchen and curses.

“Christ, H,” he says, holding his hand up to his chest and taking a steadying breath. “You scared the crap out of me. Why are you up already?”

He turns on the lights that Harry neglected and Harry squints his eyes. He tries to shield them from the sudden brightness with his hand, but before he can, Louis catches his wrist and regards him carefully.

“Were you crying?” he asks sharply, his grip on Harry tightening for a second. Harry can easily recognise the worry etched on his face, the tightness around his mouth. It makes something inside of him clench painfully and he tries to smile reassuringly. He doesn’t know how well that works out; Louis eyes sweep over his entire face, but his expression doesn’t change.

“I’m okay,” Harry says and his voice comes out a bit rough. He clears his throat, shrugs awkwardly. “Had a nightmare. Didn’t really want to stay in bed afterwards, so I came here instead.”

Louis assesses him for another second before nodding and withdrawing his hand. Harry stops himself from reaching out again; he can feel the ghost of Louis’ touch still on his skin, and he wants it to come back. Nightmares always leave him feeling unsettled, unwelcome in his own self, blurred somewhere between the dream and the reality, and the closeness was grounding.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Louis asks as he steps around the table and puts the kettle on. He doesn’t ask what Harry wants to drink — he pulls out two mugs and scrutinises the cupboard filled to the brim with different types of tea and coffee, before finally deciding on something for both of them.

“Not really,” Harry replies. He doesn’t even fully remember it, if he’s being honest. There are just brief flashes and feelings left: waking up terrified and out of breath, his eyes burning, sitting here with all the emotions flickering through him and making everything seem a little more dream-like and disconcerting. “Why aren’t _you_ still in bed, then?”

Louis leans against the worktop. “Woke up and decided to get some water. I didn’t expect to see anyone here, you nearly gave me a bloody heart attack.”

“Sorry,” Harry says. He glances at the kettle and two mugs and adds, “You don’t have to stay up and sit here with me, you know. You can just go back to bed. I’m really fine.”

“I know.” Louis nods but he makes no move to leave, no indication that he considers it even for a second. Harry averts his eyes, worried what uncensored feelings Louis might see in them if he doesn’t, and goes back to looking out the window. He’s the kind of person who enjoys waking up early, has learned to appreciate it more the older he got, but it’s rarely as early as to see the sunrise. It’s a shame, really, because it’s one of his favourite things, the way everything seems a bit more slow and hazy in those early hours of the morning. Maybe that’s the whole magic of it, though. Maybe the reason why it feel so special is how seldom he actually experiences it.

They don’t talk as they wait for the water to boil, as Louis prepares their tea; Harry can smell peppermint with a hint of something else, but it’s too subtle for him to identify properly. He tries to remember the contents of his own cupboard but comes up short — everyone has their own preferences and by now it feels like Harry has every single kind of tea imaginable. After a while he just stopped trying to keep up.

He watches silently as Louis carries their mugs out of the kitchen without a word and then comes back.

He offers Harry his hand.

“Come on,” he says softly. “Don’t get me wrong, I think the chairs here are very nice, but they’re not all that comfortable to sit in for long periods of time. I reckon the sofa might be a bit more accommodating.”

“My chairs are offended,” Harry says, taking Louis’ hand and letting himself be pulled to his feet and lead to the lounge. “You’ll have to apologise to them.”

“Okay,” Louis agrees. “I’ll prepare a whole speech. Really show my remorse. Will that be alright, do you think?”

“I think so, yeah. You just have to do your best,” Harry answers. He curls up on the sofa and smiles when Louis tugs the blanket over both of them, leaving the tea on the coffee table to cool down for a bit. “Don’t tell them I said that, but I think they’re a bit insecure about the sofa and how much everyone seems to prefer it.”

“Won’t say a word,” Louis promises with a hint of a smile, amusement at the corners of his lips. He’s leaning on his right side so he’s facing Harry, his hair ruffled from sleep, and there’s a pink mark on his skin from the pillow, right below his left eye. He’s blinking slowly, obviously still tired, but clearly not willing to leave Harry alone. Harry considers suggesting that they both could go to bed, because maybe that would convince Louis to get a few more hours of sleep, but the thought of lying in his bed alone, staring at the ceiling, is not an appealing one. Besides, the even more selfish reason is that he wants this: they haven’t and still won’t really have time to be alone, just the two of them, what with their friends around and Nick arriving tomorrow as well, followed by the party afterwards, and Harry will take what he can get.

Without properly thinking about it, he reaches out for Louis’ hand again, starts playing with his fingers. Louis doesn’t pull away, doesn’t say anything, but Harry can feel him looking.

"Tell me something,” he says, meeting Louis’ eyes. Holding hands is nothing he hasn’t done with countless of his friends before; he’s a tactile person and he finds comfort in touch. He would be kidding himself if he said this wasn’t different, though.

“And what exactly is ‘something’?” Louis asks, raising one of his eyebrows inquiringly.

Harry shrugs. “I don’t know. A story. Something.”

“Do you perhaps want me to tell you one of Ern’s bedtime stories to get you to sleep?” Louis offers. “I could’ve made you some warm milk instead of tea.”

Harry tugs at his hand. “Stop being annoying,” he says, although he can’t fully contain the small smile that breaks out on his face. “And tell me something. Anything. Distract me.”

“You’re very demanding,” Louis tells him, but his expression is fond, and Harry wants to kiss him so badly he aches with it. “Is my hand now yours as well?”

He feels the blush creeping up on his cheeks but he doesn’t let go. “Yes.”

Louis sighs. “Alright then. Let me think of something.”

Harry settles more comfortably on the couch, resting his cheek against the backrest, his eyes fixed on Louis as he starts talking. With the sun slowly rising and Louis’ quiet voice filling the space between them, Harry doesn’t even realise when his eyelids start drooping.

He wakes up when Liam comes downstairs; Louis is still asleep next to him, their fingers intertwined, and Liam’s eyes are asking questions Harry doesn’t have answers or explanations for.

He gently pulls his hand away and stands up, rearranges the blanket around Louis, and for that one moment, as he’s leaning over him, he lets himself feel all the sadness and ache and bitterness he does his best to keep locked away.

When he straightens up, he’s smiling as if nothing happened.

“Breakfast?” he asks and escapes to the kitchen before Liam even opens his mouth to reply.

~*~

The club, when they get there, is loud and already filling with people. As soon as they step inside, Harry is whisked away so everyone can say their hello’s and wish him a happy birthday. It takes around an hour before he finds his way back to the table occupied by Louis, Nick, Liam and Kate.

“Where’s Niall?” he asks and smiles when Louis slides one of the drinks his way. He saw Alex at the bar earlier, probably ordering another round, but he’s sure that the last time he glanced over here, Niall was still with them.

“Chris showed up a little while ago,” Louis explains, giving him a _look_ , and Harry makes a small sound of understanding.  

“What’s up with the two of them anyway? Niall’s being weirdly secretive about this whole thing.” He’s mentioned Chris to Harry a few times, even introduced them a couple of months ago and they grabbed some beers together, but every single one of Harry’s questions was met with a very vague and dismissive answer, so he decided to simply wait it out.

Louis shrugs. “Who knows, really. Last I heard they were mostly friends with benefits kind of thing, but we also had a conversation about dating men, so.”

Nick knocks his glass against Louis’. “Went to an expert, did he?”

“I’m a very good boyfriend, Nicholas,” Louis says. “Not that you’ll ever know.”

“You wound me, Tomlinson.”

“Sorry, babe, but I think we would drive each other up the fucking wall if we were ever dating.”

“That sounds kinky,” Nick drawls. Louis laughs. Kate shakes her head.

“Did I hear the word kinky?” Alex inquires, putting the tray with drinks on the table and taking the seat next to Kate. “Are we talking about Harry?”

Harry sticks his tongue out at her. “Piss off, Lex.”

“What?” Alex asks innocently. “We all saw you wearing a collar, didn’t we?”

“It was a _fashion_ thing,” he insists, like he has many times before. Like always, his answer gets ignored; Nick suggests that Harry should try out one of his dogs’ collars next time he comes over since he has plenty of them lying around, and Alex immediately draws Nick into a conversation Harry probably doesn’t want to know anything about.

“Was it?” Louis murmurs then, low enough that Harry’s sure he’s the only one meant to hear it. “A fashion thing?”

When Harry looks at him, his face is carefully expressionless, but his eyes look like they’re almost _sparkling_ in this light, and Harry’s stomach flips. He swallows dryly. “You’d know, wouldn’t you?” he replies, trying to sound unaffected, even as images flash through his head — stumbling through words and actions, feeling clueless and embarrassed but also loved and desired and _safe_.

A beat passes and neither of them turns away. Louis is looking at him like he’s trying to figure something out, figure _him_ out, and Harry isn’t sure what he wants to find. He has an idea, though, and as he keeps the eye contact, he hopes he’s not wrong.

Before it can get too much, Alex comes to the rescue. Kind of, at least.

“Louis,” she says, “we need your input here.”

“About what?” he asks, easily joining the conversation, even though his eyes stay on Harry for a second or two too long for the rest of them not to notice. No one says anything, but Liam glances between the two of them with a small, thoughtful frown on his face.

Harry busies himself with his drink, telling himself to calm the fuck down, as Alex explains that they’re all apparently sharing their favourite embarrassing stories of Harry as part of the celebration.

“Don’t drag me into this,” Kate says immediately. “I might be your wife, but I’m not taking any responsibility for your brilliant ideas.”

“Kate’s the only good friend out of all of you,” Harry declares. “You should treat me better on my birthday.”

“It’s not technically your birthday today,” Liam points out and Harry shoots him a betrayed look.

“Not you too, Payne. I trusted you.”

“Well, you shouldn’t,” Alex says happily. “Liam’s my main source of information when it comes to you.”

“Sorry, mate,” Liam adds, but he doesn’t sound sorry at all. “She’s hard to say no to.”

Alex beams and sends him a kiss before turning expectant eyes on Louis. Harry crosses his arms over his chest and pouts. “You’re all terrible.”

Louis puts his arm around the back of Harry’s chair, brushes his shoulder with his thumb, and smiles. “It’s purely out of love, H,” he says before launching into a story from one of the tours that has everyone laughing and Harry hiding his face in his hands and groaning.

His chest feels warm, though, and Louis’ arm stays right where it is the whole time.

~*~

Hours later, Harry’s well on his way to drunk and he feels like he’s somehow ended up in his own personal version of hell.

Louis is on the dance floor right in front of him, a drink in his hand, his head thrown back as his body moves with the music. He’s good at it, better than Harry remembers; there’s certain confidence to it, sensuality that makes Harry’s mouth feel dry. He wants to stand up and join him, and he wants to touch, to put his hands on Louis' hips and pull him close, feel how Louis' body moves in tandem with his own. He wants it so much he feels dizzy with it, and when Louis glances at their table over his shoulder and catches Harry’s eyes, it’s all Harry can do not to combust on the spot.

As soon as he’s sure Louis isn’t looking anymore, he drops his head on the table with a very satisfying _thud_. It expresses the way he’s feeling right now quite accurately.

“Mate,” Niall says and Harry doesn’t like the tone of his voice _at all_. “ _Mate_.”

“Leave me alone, Niall,” Harry mutters, his voice muffled against the hard surface and barely carrying over the loud music.

“ _Mate_ ,” Niall repeats again, like he’s really trying to drive the point home here. “What the fuck is going on between the two of you?”

It’s an excellent fucking question, Harry thinks, but he doesn’t say it. Niall’s been drinking even more than Harry has, and hopefully he won’t remember any of this in the morning. It’s definitely not a conversation Harry wants to have right now, anyway.

He can still see Louis when he closes his eyes, like it’s something that will be etched in his memory forever, and he’s sure this is some especially cruel method of torture.

He doesn’t know if he wants it to stop.

“Don’t you have someone waiting for you?” he asks Niall instead. “Fuck off and go kiss your boyfriend.”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Niall answers, like he always does when anyone calls Chris that. He doesn’t sound very bothered, considering, or like he genuinely means it at all. “Are you going to dance with him?”

“Who, Chris?” Harry asks, as if he doesn’t know exactly what Niall means.

Niall pinches him. “Stop playing dumb.”

“No,” Harry replies. He lifts his head enough to put his arm on the table and rest his cheek on it.

“No, you won’t stop playing dumb or no, you won’t dance with Louis?” Niall takes another sip of his beer. Harry wrinkles his nose and wonders if Niall would bring him another drink if he asked nicely. It is his birthday, after all.

“Both,” he says. “Will you get me another drink?”

“Why not?” Niall asks, completely ignoring his request.

“I want the blue one,” Harry adds, because two can play this game.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“You didn’t answer mine either. It’s my birthday, Niall. I have the right to ask for drinks and avoid questions. Please?” He looks up at him with wide eyes. It only takes a few seconds before Niall sighs and stands up.

“This is far from over,” he tells Harry. “But one drink is coming right up.”

Satisfied, Harry closes his eyes. Maybe if he was less drunk or less distracted, he would’ve remembered that Niall is a sneaky bastard who never makes Harry’s life easy.

Harry does get his drink, but he gets it from Louis.

“Niall said you’re lonely,” Louis declares, sitting down next to him. “You can’t feel lonely on your own birthday party.”

Niall is a terrible, terrible friend, and Harry wants to both punch and hug him.

“Did he?” he asks, sitting up. They’re close enough that their shoulder brush but neither of them moves away. “And is that another one of your rules?”

“I think it’s just a general rule,” Louis replies and he doesn’t ask before taking Harry’s drink and trying it. He hums appreciatively. “You know, like gifts and singing happy birthday and all that. You shouldn’t feel lonely on your day.”

“There’s something to be said about how we’re all lonely in this world and everything is a social construct, but I think I might be too drunk for that.”

Louis rolls his eyes. “Alright, philosopher Styles, don’t go all existential crisis on me right now.”

“Sorry.” Harry smiles. “Are you having fun?”

“Shouldn’t I be the one asking you that?”

Harry shrugs. “You’re my guest, aren’t you?”

“But it’s _your_ birthday party and you’re sitting here, sulking in the corner. Come on.” He stands up and holds his hand out. “Come dance with me, birthday boy.”

“I’m good, thanks,” Harry says immediately. It doesn’t matter how much he’s thought about it, actually dancing with Louis is definitely something he shouldn’t do if he wants to hold onto the rest of his sanity. “This is a nice corner.”

“The corner will still be here in five minutes,” Louis replies. “Come on. Don’t leave me hanging, H. Please?”

He’s always been terrible at telling Louis no. Louis, for his part, has always been good at taking advantage of that.

“You’re the worst,” Harry informs him and Louis’ smile suggests he already knows it means Harry’s given in. When he stands up, everything around him spirals for a few seconds, like the alcohol is just now hitting him, all at once. Louis is right there, though, steadying him and unceremoniously dragging him to the middle of the room.

It’s fine, at first; they do more fucking around than actual dancing, coming up with different moves and stupid poses to see who can make the other one laugh more. It makes Harry feel like he’s on top of the fucking world, having Louis’ unrestricted attention focused solely on him like this, being at the receiving end of the wide, bright smile on his face. He’s _beautiful_ , the way his eyes shine in these lights, his hair messy from all the dancing, his skin looking like it’s almost glowing. At one point he puts his hand on Harry’s arm and leans against him, laughing into his chest, and it takes Harry’s breath away.

It always has.

But then the music changes, the up-beat song turning into a slower, more sensual one, and with it comes the shift in the atmosphere around them. Harry swallows, has an excuse readily waiting on the tip of his tongue, but he doesn’t get to use it; Louis looks at him, heady, and rests his hands on Harry’s hips, pulls him close.

Harry’s heart pounds in his chest.

“Alright?” Louis asks and Harry almost laughs in response. Louis is so close his lips brush the shell of Harry’s ear as he speaks, making him shiver, and there’s no way he doesn’t feel that. Of course Harry’s not fucking alright, Christ, but he’s also much _better_ than that.

He still nods, lets himself have this, get lost in it, in the music and Louis’ hands on his body, Louis’ scent surrounding him and making him feel lightheaded, Louis’ breath on his neck, his cheek, the way he’s moving with Harry. A few times their hips brush or lips touch skin, and Harry doesn’t know if this is heaven or hell, but he knows he’s not getting out of this in one piece, not without consequences.

When the song ends and swiftly turns into another, everyone keeps moving around them, but at the same time it feels like the entire world comes to a halt along with them. Harry’s hand is on the small of Louis’ back, keeping them close together, while Louis’ slowly moves from Harry’s shoulder to the side of his neck, his fingertips brushing Harry’s hair.

Their faces are inches apart and Harry’s almost completely sure he can see the desire, the burning _want_ inside of him, reflected back at him in Louis’ eyes.

It would take so little for them to kiss, just Harry tilting his head a little bit down, a bit to the side, and then— And in this moment, he feels _sure_ —

They lean in at the same time. At first it’s just a brush of lips, tentative and slow, barely there, but it goes straight to Harry’s head. He isn’t actually drunk, far from it, but it feels like he might as well be — on Louis and their closeness and the last few months. His stomach swoops and for a moment he’s sure he would’ve dropped right to the floor if it wasn’t for Louis.

He lets out a small noise and pushes closer, because he wants _more_ , because Louis is _kissing him_ , and he can taste the slight bitterness of the beer Louis was drinking earlier, can feel the tips of Louis’ fingers tangling in his hair. He pulls Louis’ body flush to his own and opens his mouth, brushes Louis’ bottom lip with his tongue, and—

And Louis breaks away. He doesn’t move far, stays in Harry’s arms, but in this second, to Harry, the distance between them feels both nonexistent and monumental at once. He feels overwhelmed and like he can’t catch his breath, his heart beating wildly in his chest, and he can’t bring himself to move. It’d feel too much like running away, when they both _know_ now, and he doesn’t want to run away from Louis, from himself, any longer.

He swallows hard. “Louis—“

“I can’t,” Louis whispers, his voice breaking slightly. Harry can almost see the conflicting emotions fighting inside him, the difference between the way he’s still holding on to Harry and the way he’s avoiding Harry’s eyes. “Harry, I— We can’t. Not like this. Not again.”

Harry’s not nineteen and he’s not afraid of loving Louis anymore, but he’s terrified at the same time; there are too many feelings in his chest, too many words stuck in the back of his throat, unable to make their way out. But when Louis finally meets his eyes, it’s like he’s waiting for something, like maybe there’s a small part of him that’s still expecting Harry to leave and take the easy way out, and that, more than anything, is what makes Harry stay firmly in his place, his eyes not leaving Louis’ for a second.

“I know. Hey.” He brushes Louis’ cheek with his thumb. “I think there’s a balcony somewhere in here,” he says softly, turning it into a question halfway through, and Louis nods. Harry hesitates before taking Louis’ hand in his, but Louis grips back tightly, lets Harry lead the way.

Once the door closes behind them, they both lean on the railing, their shoulders pressed together.

This is it, Harry realises. A defining point.

He thinks that maybe it should feel different, somehow, but it doesn’t: it’s just another moment of life. They can still hear the music from the inside, even if it’s mostly subdued out here, and their friends are just behind the door, laughing and talking and having fun, while the two of them are here, about to show their hearts.

Finally, after what feels like forever, Louis says, “I was invited to dinner when I’m back in London. As a date.”

Harry looks at the city lights, silent. He should probably say something back, but his throat feels tight, and there’s suddenly a knife twisting in his chest, and it _hurts_. He didn’t expect it to hurt this much.

He tries to keep a neutral expression and he tries to smile, but he doesn’t think he succeeds at either.

“Oh,” is what eventually makes its way out of his mouth. It comes out every bit as deflated as he feels inside and he hates himself for it a bit. He swallows. “I hope you have fun, then. Do I know him?” He continues, because if he’s having his heart broken, he might as well be a good friend throughout it.

“No,” Louis replies. “And maybe I would have, but I said no, so I guess we won’t find out.”

When Harry glances at him, Louis is staring straight ahead.

“Why?” Harry asks. His heart’s beating so hard he can feel it in his throat.

The corner of Louis’ lips tilts up into a faint smile. He’s nervous, Harry notices, and he’s not trying to hide it.

“I think we both know why,” he says softly. He looks at Harry. “How is it possible that after all these years and everything that happened between us, you’re still the only one that makes me feel this way? What is it about you? How do I get you out of my head?”

Harry grips the railing tightly, painfully. “Do you want to?”

“I don’t know. I feel like I don’t know anything.” He lets out a long, shaky breath. “I’ve thought about kissing you so many times it’s driving me a bit mad.”

Harry’s stomach turns; he knows the feeling all too well. He can’t stop thinking about what it felt like to have Louis so close to him again, to feel his lips against his own, and his hands itch to reach out for him. Still: “I’m sensing a ‘but’ here.”

“I don’t know if we can make it work,” Louis admits quietly. “It’s not— I want you. _God_ , of course I do. But we have to think about this. We live on different continents, we have our careers, our lives. Seeing each other once a month is not a relationship I want at this point in my life, H.”

Harry reckons this is the moment when, if they were having this conversation before, he would’ve turned around, assumed that maybe it just wasn’t meant to be. It’s different now. He’s different, they both are, and he knows he’s ready to talk about it and make compromises if it means having a chance to be with Louis. Even if it’s hard, even if it’s more complicated than other possible relationships… it’s worth it.

Louis is worth it.

“Maybe it won’t work out,” Harry starts, because making empty promises is something he definitely won’t do. “Maybe we’ll fight and get frustrated and— but maybe it will. We can figure things out, Lou. We can talk about it and— as long as we both want it, we can make it work.”

“You seem really sure of that.”

“I know what it’s like to lose you.” He doesn’t think he could ever forget. He doesn’t think he wants to. “I don’t believe there’s only one person out there that’s made for you, that you can love and be happy with. But I want _you_. With all the history and complications. I know it won’t be easy, but you’re worth it all.”

This is all he has: baring his heart and trusting Louis to be gentle with it, even if he doesn’t want it for himself.

“Harry, I don’t—”

The balcony door opens. Louis turns away again, keeps his back to whoever’s stepped out, and Harry takes a steadying breath before facing them.

It’s Kate. She’s worrying her bottom lip between her teeth, her eyes flickering from Harry to Louis and back again. Harry wonders if anyone noticed what happened between him and Louis back inside, and hopes they didn’t. Hopes he and Louis will have a chance to figure it out on their own first. “I’m sorry for interrupting, but it’s time for the cake and everyone is looking for you, Harry.”

“Sorry for stealing the birthday boy,” Louis says, voice almost forcibly cheerful. “You shouldn’t make your guests wait, H.”

Kate looks at Harry inquiringly, but he just shakes his head. “I’ll be there in a bit, okay?”

Kate nods. “I’ll stall for you.”

“Thanks, K.”

He watches her go before turning back to Louis.

“They’ll ask questions,” Louis says.

Harry shrugs. “Let them. We don’t have to give them answers.”

Louis snorts. “Easier said than done. I don’t know what I would tell them anyway, even if I wanted to.”

“We don’t have to make any decisions right now,” Harry tells him softly. “If you want to think about it. We have time.”

“It’s not a question of wanting this, of— of wanting _you_. It’s just—”

“I know, Lou. I know.”

When he reaches out for Louis’ hand, Louis bypasses it and hugs him instead. Harry closes his eyes and breathes him in, tries to calm his heart, to commit this to memory. This exact moment, the two of them and this balcony and all the feelings inside, Louis’ fingers gripping his shirt. He wants to remember all of it.

“You’re staying in LA for a bit, aren’t you? We’ll talk. We’ll figure it out. I love you.” It’s not a confession or a declaration, it’s not an _I’m in love with you_ ; it’s a promise, a reminder, an assurance. Louis is his best friend and Harry’s loved him for as long as he can remember, more than a decade now, in different ways over the years. If there’s one thing he’s sure of, it’s that he wants Louis in his life in any way he can.

“I love you too,” Louis replies and if that’s everything Harry would get for the rest of his life, he’d learn to be content with it, he thinks. “Go and blow out your candles. Make your wish.”

Harry holds him for another few seconds and then takes a step back. “Are you coming?”

Louis smiles. “Yeah, just need a second.”

Harry doesn’t ask; he just darts in and presses a kiss to Louis’ cheek. “I’ll be waiting,” he says before heading to the door and joining the party again.

Everyone’s in the middle of singing Happy Birthday when Louis slips back inside. He stays in the back, but he meets Harry’s eyes, joins in with the singing, and then steals a bite from Harry’s piece of cake after he’s finished his.

Harry’s heart leaps every time he looks at him.

~*~

They do talk about it, though it’s a bit more complicated than Harry has anticipated. He didn’t, in the heat of the moment, take into account having his house full of people and someone always being around. Besides, after everything that’s happened between them, the last thing he’d want to do is make Nick feel unwelcome; he wants to take advantage of him being here before he goes back to London and they both get too busy to see each other for a while again.

The morning after the party, he comes downstairs and ignores the sound of the voices coming from the kitchen, joins Louis out on the patio instead. He’s sitting in one of the chairs, his phone on the table next to him, a cigarette between his fingers.

“It really is a terrible habit,” Harry says, taking a seat next to him. “Smoking, I mean. Have you thought about trying to quit?”

“More than once,” Louis replies. “It never really sticks. Is that something you’d want me to do?” he asks and he sounds like he’s kind of joking but also kind of not.

Harry shrugs. “It’s not good for you, but it’s your choice. It’s not something for me to decide.”

Louis quirks his eyebrow. “That’s a very diplomatic answer.”

“It’s the truth. No smoking in the house, though. That’s a rule.”

Louis nods. “Fair enough.” He takes another drag and after a slight pause, he adds, “How is that supposed to work, then? Are you willing to move to London?”

Harry didn’t exactly expect his morning to start with this conversation, without even having his coffee first. He also can’t say he’s all that surprised, considering.  

“It depends,” he starts carefully, “on what you mean by moving to London.”

“Exactly what it sounds like.” There’s a quiet kind of fierceness to him and Harry knows that this is important, that England is something Louis is not willing to give up: his family is there, and he loves Doncaster, and London is his home, has been for almost half of his life. Harry understands that. Los Angeles has been Harry’s home for a long time too, though, and it’s not as easy as simply dropping everything and moving somewhere else.

“This place means a lot to me,” Harry says, his eyes sweeping over the garden, the parts of the house he can see from here. “So no, I don’t want to move to London permanently.”

“I know that,” Louis replies, like it’s exactly the answer he’s been expecting. “I don’t want you to let go of things that are important to you because of me. But if we’re doing this, I also don’t want you on the other side of the world.”

“We both have work-related as well as personal reasons to travel between the two. There will definitely be times when we have to be in different places but that’s just… life. That’s how our careers work and how it’s always going to be. I don’t mind living in London and spending more time there, as long as this is home, too.”

Louis hums. “I do like this house a lot. Could get used to it being home.”

“Home is wherever I’m with you,” Harry sings under his breath, his lips turning up into a smile. Louis rolls his eyes and pinches him.

“You’re terrible,” he tells Harry, but he’s smiling, too.

~*~

When they find themselves alone again, it’s the next day after dinner. Harry’s turning the dishwasher on and Louis is waiting for the kettle to boil.

“What if you want to do some epic film and go off to Australia for six months?” Louis asks out of nowhere. Harry finishes what he’s doing before he straightens up and looks at him.

“What if you want to spend three months off somewhere working on your music? Or on the music for one of the bands you work with? What if _you_ decide to take part in a film? What if we all die tomorrow?”

“Alright, alright.” Louis holds his hands up. “I see what you mean. I just… I want you to think about things. I don’t want you to regret this. I don’t want you to— to change your mind.”

Maybe Harry should feel hurt by the words, feel like Louis is doubting him, but he doesn’t. He knows where Louis is coming from all too well, and this is not a conversation they should be having in the kitchen while their friends are just in the next room, laughing about something, and could come in here at any moment. But right now, Harry doesn’t care: he steps closer to Louis, puts his hand on top of Louis’ on the worktop.

“Lou, I don’t think I’ve ever been this sure about anything in my life. _I want you_. It’s not always going to be easy, but it’s going to be a whole damn lot easier than it used to be for us. We’re both out. We don’t have to sneak around and make excuses. If, for some reason I can’t picture right now, I decide to spend six months in Australia, you can come see me whenever you want to. Hell, you can even get papped at the airport while doing so. Or I can come to London or LA or anywhere else. It’s not like we can’t afford to fly in and out.”

“You really have it all thought out, don’t you?”

“I’m not giving up on us,” Harry says softly. “Not this time.”

“I don’t need convincing,” Louis tells him, like that’s something he needs Harry to know, to understand. “It’s not about that. I know what I want. I just need to— know. I want to be reasonable about this. This, you— you’re too important to me to just throw myself into this.”

Before Harry can reply, from the lounge comes the shout of, “Louis!” followed by, “Did you two get lost in there?”

“If you want your tea, piss off and wait!” Harry calls back. To Louis, he says, “We can take all the time we need. And if you want to talk about anything or just spend time together, you know where my room is. And maybe then we won’t be interrupted every five seconds.”

As if on cue, Nick steps into the room. Harry lets go of Louis’ hand before Nick can see it, but he still seems to pause briefly when he notices how close together they’re standing.

“What do you want?” Harry asks, moving to open the fridge.

“You really need to work on the way your speak to your guests, Styles,” Nick replies, coming up to Louis and putting his arm around Louis’ shoulders.

“You really need to work on being less annoying,” Louis says and jabs an elbow into Nick’s ribs. Harry grins.

~*~

It sort of becomes a thing after that: the late evenings, once everyone retreats to their rooms, or goes out, or just wants time for themselves after a long day, turn into time he spends with Louis.  

“I feel like we’re sneaking around and hiding something from our parents,” Harry says on the third night. Louis is sprawled on Harry’s bed, scrolling through his phone. When he came in, he informed Harry that he almost walked straight into Liam on his way here, and had to pretend he was going to the bathroom instead. “It’s not like we can’t just hang out alone. This isn’t some huge secret.”

“It’s more fun this way.” Louis grins. Harry rolls his eyes and has to stop himself from saying _you’re thirty fucking years old_ , mostly because there’s still almost a year until that and he doesn’t think Louis would take it very well; it’s a bit of a sore subject for him. “Besides, I’m pretty sure Liam already knows anyway. He’s pulled me to the side and reminded me he’s here if I need to talk about anything. I just patted his cheek and told him I know.”

They’ve both decided that they want to wrap their own heads around it first and keep it to themselves for a bit before they go around telling their friends. It’s not official yet, anyway, doesn’t have a specific label. They’ve been going over questions, and worries, and decisions, talking about everything and anything, still learning bits and pieces about each other and sharing stories, staying up into early hours of the morning.

One night, they talked about their families and when Harry brought up the topic of telling them, Louis immediately groaned.

Before Harry had a chance to start worrying, Louis said, “Oh God, we’ll have to tell Lottie soon or she’ll kill me and won’t stop talking about the bloody sitting arrangement for the next five years.”

Harry smiled tightly. “I think the sitting arrangement is her least important problem when it comes to us being together again.”

“Well, it’s the only one she has any say in, so she’ll just have to deal with it,” Louis told him and that was that.

Harry doesn’t think they’ve ever before been quite this open and honest with each other and something inside of him stirs painfully, remembering how lost and confused and trapped he felt back then, and how loving Louis had seemed like the best and the worst thing that ever happened to him. He wants to go back and tell that Harry that it’s okay to feel that way, that it’ll get easier with time, that it’ll all be alright. He wants to say _you won’t lose him forever,_ and _you’ll become happy with exactly who you are,_ and _give yourself time,_ and _you’re doing better than you think_. He wants to hug him and tell him to hold on.

“We’re obviously not going to go public with it immediately,” is the topic Louis brings up tonight. He’s lying on his side, facing Harry, and he looks tired. “But I don’t want to hide it either. After everything you’ve said, I’m assuming you feel the same way.”

Harry does. The completely cheesy, ridiculous part of his brain is ready to shout about Louis from the rooftops so the whole world can hear, but the more sensible one knows it’s all more complicated than that. There’s also the slightly selfish part that simply wants to keep it as something that’s just _theirs_ for a while, and when he admits so out loud, it makes Louis smile.

“We just neither confirm nor deny it,” Harry sums it up. “Let people come to their own conclusions and think whatever they want.”

That night, once they run out of words, Louis doesn’t make to stand up and go to his own room like he has the nights before. Instead, he burrows deeper under the duvet and tells Harry to grab his laptop, put on a film for them to watch. During a lull in the commentary, Harry glances at Louis and finds him already asleep.

He reaches out and pushes Louis’ fringe out of his face. “Goodnight, Lou,” he murmurs, and hopes.

~*~

Harry doesn’t wake up to an empty bed and it somehow feels more meaningful than he’s expected.

Louis is already awake, sitting up against the headboard with one of the books from Harry’s shelf in his lap, caught up in whatever it is he’s reading. He’s already teased Harry about all the poetry he’s found there and the candles strewn all over the room, and apparently just being a terrible cliché of himself.

“Morning,” Harry says, voice groggy from sleep. Louis holds up his finger and Harry watches him finish the page he’s on and bookmark it, before turning to Harry with a smile.

“Good morning,” he replies and he sounds amused. “I forgot you snore. I feel like that’s something we should discuss in our relationship conversations.”

Harry pouts, even as his heart lifts with happiness at the obvious joking, at how much more relaxed Louis seems to be about this whole thing now, after they’ve talked. “It’s cute snoring, though, right? It’s endearing.”

Louis laughs and shakes his head, tugs at the duvet still wrapped around Harry. “I won’t burst your bubble if you get up in the next five minutes. I’ve been awake for ages and I’m _starving_.”

Harry raises his eyebrow. “Did you suddenly lose the ability to go to the kitchen on your own? Make your own food?” He pokes one of Louis’ legs and then his side, until Louis squirms away. “Nope, everything’s still working.”

“You’re not going to be working in a minute,” Louis says under his breath and Harry laughs into his pillow. It takes a bit more convincing from Louis and grumbling from Harry, but eventually they both get up and Louis goes back to his room as Harry heads to the bathroom.

It’s quiet in the house — it seems like they’re the first ones awake. Harry’s already made them coffee by the time Louis joins him in the kitchen, and he sends Harry a small smile as he picks up his mug and takes a sip.

Louis turns on the radio and they set to work, chatting and singing along to the music all the while. At one point, Harry takes a bowl out of Louis’ hands and puts it on the counter, makes him waltz all over the kitchen, completely off-beat, and when he dips him at the end, Louis is grinning so much it lights up the room; Harry reckons he’s brighter than the sun. He keeps smiling to himself even when they get back to cooking, and it’s all going smoothly, until it’s not.

“Louis!” Harry yelps, because Louis just danced his way over and Harry was too busy watching him to notice the can of whipped cream in his hand until the content of it was suddenly on his cheek.

Before Louis can do the same to Harry’s nose, Harry reaches behind himself and throws some flour on Louis’ tee and then ducks under his arm, moving around the table and to the other side of it, so it separates them.

“Stay away,” he says, fighting off the laughter bubbling up in his throat.

“You don’t mean that,” Louis argues, inching closer. He glances around, like he’s trying to figure out the best way to get to Harry without him realising.

“I do when you’re holding that in your hand.” Harry nods at the can. Louis’ expression instantly turns innocent.

“I just want to put it on the table with the rest. What if someone wants whipped cream on their pancakes?”

“No one wants it on my face, though.”

Louis takes another step closer. “But what if I do?”

“You just want to make me look like a mess.”

“Oh, I do,” Louis murmurs and something in his voice tells Harry he means something completely different. His stomach flips.

Louis takes that moment to start running towards him; Harry moves only a second later, but Louis easily catches him and starts the most ridiculous food fight. They keep shrieking, and laughing, and trying to get away from each other, and it’s really fucking stupid, but it’s also _fun_ , and Harry loves every second of it.

“Okay, enough!” He pants eventually and squawks when Louis still manages to get something on him. They’re crowded against each other, the worktop digging into Harry’s back, and Louis doesn’t move away as they catch their breath. “This is going to be a nightmare to clean.” He brushes some of the flour from Louis’ cheek and Louis’ puts his hand on top of Harry’s, keeping it there.

“Harry,” he says quietly, almost a whisper. Harry’s breath hitches and he bites his lip, watches as the question in Louis’ eyes turns into determination, into burning emotion that makes Harry’s stomach erupt with butterflies.

 _Please_ , Harry thinks, leaning in slightly. He closes his eyes, his heart pounding, Louis’ warm breath on his lips, just millimetres apart, barely brushing… Almost, _finally_ …

The stairs creak. “H, are you awake?” Niall calls. Louis jumps back slightly. Harry kind of wants to cry.

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Louis hisses. “I’m going to kill him.”

Every fibre of Harry’s being wants to drag Louis back to him and kiss him until they’re both breathless with it, until he stops feeling like he’s going to explode if he doesn’t, to hell with everyone else. It’s not that simple, though, and he doesn’t want to mess this up, can’t take the possibility of Louis pulling back again. They both need to be in this fully, and he doesn’t want it to turn into something rushed, something they have to explain. He wants it for himself, for _them_ , and he wants it to last.

He rests his forehead against Louis’, just for a second, and then he sighs and gathers himself together, lets Louis take a few steps back.

“In the kitchen!” He shouts back. He clumsily drops a kiss to Louis’ shoulder as he passes him, and busies himself with clearing up some of the mess they’ve made.

“What the fuck did you do?” Niall asks as soon as he steps in. Louis throws a strawberry at him.

~*~

When the knock comes, Harry’s lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling and definitely _not_ thinking about kissing Louis.

He’s spent the entire day in some sort of a daze, constantly switching between remembering their kiss that night in the club and going back to the moment in the kitchen, to how their lips just _barely_ touched, and how he couldn’t even feel it properly, let alone kiss back. He hasn’t exactly been subtle about this either; Nick’s told him to stop looking at Louis and listen to him at least three times, always making sure his voice was loud enough and Louis close enough for him to hear it. Harry missed Nick doing his best to embarrass him at every turn, he really did. And it didn’t help that Louis has been awfully affectionate the whole day, making Harry consider dragging him to his room and kissing him senseless. He didn’t, of course, but it was a close call.

Once he got to his room, he tried to keep himself distracted: he replied to some emails and scrolled through Twitter, went about his night routine, lit up some candles and put one of his favourite albums on. He even attempted writing, letting out the mess of feelings in his chest, but the words felt too big somehow, _too much_ to write down, to have them spelled out like that. And here he is now, with his brain refusing to slow down and stop thinking about the person currently standing on the other side of his door.

Anticipation and warmth curls in his belly as soon as he opens the door and meets Louis’ eyes — the look from before is back, the fire and determination, and Harry swallows hard.

“Don’t,” Louis says when Harry opens his mouth to say something, _anything_. Louis closes the door behind himself. “Just… shut up.”

And then Louis kisses him. He closes the distance between them like he’s worried something or someone is going to stop them again, like maybe if he doesn’t do it now, he won’t get another chance. It's the same burning want as the kiss from the club, the same intensity, but it's so different at the same time. So much _more_. He kisses Harry like it’s a confession, a promise, a beginning, like he doesn’t want to ever stop, and there’s nothing holding him back anymore.

Harry's brain short-circuits, white noise filling his ears as the reality of the situation hits him and all the feelings crush into him at once, but it only takes a second before he comes back to himself, pulling Louis closer and kissing him back with everything he has. All the years, the hurt and the longing, the hopes and assurances, mistakes and learning and new chances — it’s all there. There’s nothing he doesn’t want Louis to see, to feel, and it’s everything he’s wanted to say to Louis without words ever since his birthday, ever since he got a taste of what they could be again. Now it’s all of that and more. It’s both fireworks and safety, searing heat and the quietness of everything slotting into its right place.

It’s comfort and familiarity and love, and it feels like coming home.

“Are we doing this, then?” Harry asks quietly once they break apart, breathing harshly. He has to know, has to hear Louis say it; it already feels like it’s going to break him if Louis says no.

He doesn’t.

“We are,” Louis replies and huffs out a laugh. “Fuck, this is mad. Kiss me again.”

“I love you,” Harry says, because it’s bursting out of him, all of it. Louis smiles, eyes crinkling, and keeps smiling into the kiss, their mouths bumping together clumsily.

Harry remembers their first kiss. He remembers the sweaty palms and feeling as if his stomach turned around and upside down, remembers the frantic, slightly panicked thought of _oh my God, I’m kissing a boy_ , quickly followed by _oh my God, I’m kissing Louis_ , and not being sure which one was more surprising. He remembers feeling flustered and almost drunk on it, unsure what to do with his hands and worrying he’s doing something wrong. It wasn’t his first kiss, but close enough to it, and it _was_ his first one with a boy. He was sixteen, thrilled, and absolutely terrified, only just starting the craziest years of his life, not really knowing it yet, and in love with his best friend.

He’s twenty-seven now and everything’s different; enough has happened to make that time, that kiss, seem like it was in another lifetime, like it happened to someone else. But here he is: in love with his best friend, in the middle of starting a new chapter of his life, of his career, and feeling the happiest he’s ever been.

He takes a shaky breath and buries his face in Louis’ neck, hugs him tightly. There just— there are no words for this. He can’t make himself speak.

“I know,” Louis says and his voice wavers slightly. “I know, love.”

Harry holds him.

~*~

Harry feels like everything that’s happened is written all over his face and it will take their friends approximately ten seconds and one look at him to figure it all out.

He fell asleep still feeling Louis’ lips on his own, curled into Louis’ side, and he was the first one to wake up, with Louis’ arm thrown over his chest. He spent a few minutes simply looking at Louis, taking it all in, and when he thought his heart might just explode with all the emotions rushing through him, he leaned over and kissed Louis awake. When he pulled back, he decided he could probably take on anything the world would throw at him, if it meant Louis kept looking at him the way he was in that moment.

“What’s got you so chirpy this morning?” Nick asks during breakfast and Harry tries and fails to keep his growing smile at bay.

“Nothing,” he replies and stops himself glancing over at where Louis and Liam are lost in their own conversation. “It’s just a nice day, isn’t it? Do you want me to be sad?”

“Yes, that’s my main desire in life.” Nick rolls his eyes. “And the smile on your face is so happy it’s putting me off my food. You could at least tell me why.”

Harry shrugs. He has a feeling Nick already has his suspicions and they’re not too far away from the truth. “The sun is shining, the birds are singing, I have some of my favourite people here…”

Nick snorts. “You’re so full of crap.”

Harry blinks at him innocently. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Nick narrows his eyes. “I see how it is, Styles, I see how it is,” he says, and even though his voice is light and joking and there’s nothing that suggests Nick actually means it or is annoyed with him, the comment doesn’t sit fully comfortably with Harry — they’ve spent long enough not talking to each other and he reckons the vulnerability might hang around for a while.

“Hey,” he says quietly, nudging Nick’s knee with his own under the table. “Do you want to do something together today? Just us two?”

Nick raises his eyebrows, but there’s a hint of a smile on his face when he asks, “Are you asking me out on a date, Styles?”

“I think we’ve already talked about our undying love, haven’t we?”

Nick picks up his coffee and drinks it slowly. "I don’t know. I think I need to hear that song you promised to write for me first. See if it’s worth it.”

Harry brings his hand to his chest, feigning indignation. “Are you implying you don’t think I’m talented enough to woo you with my music? After all these years? I’m hurt, Grimshaw.”

“It’s simply a precaution, darling. I can’t date someone who won’t get a number one. I’m a famous radio DJ, you know. It comes with responsibilities. The nation relies on me.”

“I can feel my heart breaking in two right now. I don’t know how I’m supposed to just go on with my life after this.”

Nick heaves a very over-dramatic sigh. “I guess one date is fine. You really need to impress me, though.”

Harry, doing his best to keep a straight face, reaches out towards the vase on the table and picks out one of the flowers, offers it to Nick. “I’ll sweep you off your feet.”

Nick pretends to swoon.

“Are you two feeling alright?” Louis asks. Both Harry and Nick turn towards him at once and find him and Liam watching the two of them with varying amounts of amusement and confusion on their faces.

“Harry’s taking me on a date,” Nick informs them and Harry wonders whether it should be such an easily acceptable explanation. As it is, Louis and Liam don’t even blink, simply going along with it.

"Are you abandoning us for Nick? Should we be jealous?"

Harry chooses another flower and stands up, walks over to Louis. He bows before him, holding out the flower in front of him for Louis to take. His heart feels light. “Forgive me. I’ll be all yours tomorrow.”

"You’re ridiculous,” Louis tells him but he accepts the flower and when Harry straightens up and looks at him, his smile is fond. In this moment, it takes all of Harry’s willpower not to pull Louis close and kiss him, regardless of everything and everyone. He thinks Louis notices, because something in his expression shifts and he ducks his head slightly, hiding it from view, turns back towards the table. “I think tomorrow is Liam’s day, as he’s leaving us and going back to the real world, but I’ll keep that offer of yours in mind.”

Harry instantly drapes himself over the back of Liam’s chair, resting his chin on top of Liam’s head and hugging him. “Would you like a flower as well, Li?”

“I’m alright, thank you,” Liam replies, amusement clear in his voice. "Now I do expect to have a date with you tomorrow, though.“

"You’ll have a date with all of us,” Harry promises. “We’ll have a proper Liam day.”

As Harry goes back to his own seat, Liam tells them about his schedule over the next few days and going back to the studio, the prolonged celebration of Harry’s birthday finally coming to an end. Niall’s already left early this morning, half-asleep and muttering something about planes and plans and Chris, and seeing all of them again soon.

Once breakfast is over, Louis joins Harry in the kitchen.

“Leaving me for Nick already, huh?”

Harry smiles. He’s very conscious of the voices he can hear from the other room, but he can’t help himself: he moves closer and kisses Louis like he’s wanted to all morning, and he marvels at the thought that he _can_. That this is something they’re doing now. That Louis kisses him back, without any hesitation, his hand cupping Harry’s face.

“Is that enough of an answer?” Harry murmurs and he more feels than sees Louis smile.

“I don’t know,” Louis says, “I think you might have to convince me a bit more.”

Harry breathes out a laugh. “Do you _want_ them to walk in on us?” he asks but, ignoring his own words, he still brushes his lips against Louis’ lightly. He’s only human, after all.

Louis sighs. “No. I do want to get you back in bed, though.”

Harry’s stomach swoops. _God_. “Please don’t say things like that when I’m about to go out and not see you the whole day.”

Louis smirks. “You have something to look forward to, then,” he says and laughs when Harry pouts. He presses a kiss to Harry’s cheek before stepping back. “Have fun with Nick, babe. I’ll take you up on that offer of being all mine soon enough.”

“You’re terrible,” Harry says but the smile on his face tells a completely different story.

~*~

Spending the day with Nick makes Harry wonder how the hell they got to the point they were at last year. They just— they make each other laugh, all the fucking time, and there’s something about Nick that immediately puts Harry at ease, whenever he’s around him. He knows he doesn’t have to worry about the stuff that comes out of his mouth and he can let himself be completely unguarded and he always has been; he remembers being eighteen and feeling like he could be fully himself around Nick, like he could turn everything off and just _be_ and it’d be okay. Nick’s one of the people who watched him grow up and become the person he is today, who has always been there for him and who Harry’s felt like he could spend every day with and never get bored of. He’s someone worth holding on to and Harry fully intends to do so.

They start in the gym, where one of the One Direction songs comes on halfway through, and Nick finds it a lot funnier than it actually is, singing along to the lyrics and humming through the parts he doesn’t remember, coming up with random bits of choreography he then convinces Harry to act out. Afterwards, he plays more of the band’s music in the car and sends videos of that to Louis, as well as posts one of them on his Instagram.

“I know you have this whole solo album thing planned,” he says, “but I really think you should rethink that and make One Direction come back with me as the fifth member. I think we’d go down in history.”

Harry snorts. “Yeah, as the least straight band, perhaps.”

“All the more reason to do it,” Nick says and Harry shakes his head, laughing. God, he’s missed this. He’s missed Nick.

They decide to grab lunch in one of the cafes, because they’re too lazy to make it themselves, but they do pop into a store to buy some groceries for dinner, and spend about five minutes arguing about wines, even though neither of them has any idea what they’re talking about. Once they’re back home, Nick collapses on the couch and googles wine facts as Harry unpacks everything and puts it into the right places.

“Did you know that in California the only thing more popular with tourists than wine country tours is Disneyland?” He asks when Harry sits down next to him. “And the fear of wine is called oenophobia.”

“I didn’t know either of those things,” Harry says and lies down with his head in Nick’s lap. "Aren’t we supposed to be on a date right now? I think you should pay more attention to me than your phone.“

“I’m trying to show you I’m well-cultured.” He doesn’t even glance down at Harry, but he moves one of his hands to run it through Harry’s hair. “For example, the oldest bottle of wine is over one thousand and six hundred years old and on display at a German museum. And, oh, look, this is something for you: apparently red wine can make your hair healthier.”

“Nick,” Harry whines, tugging at his wrist, “I don’t care. Can we just watch a film or something?”

“Should I google the best wine films?” Nick asks. Harry groans and sits up. “Hey, wait. What did the grape say when it was crushed?”

Harry, resigned to his fate, but also already amused, stifles a smile and sighs, “I don’t know. What?”

“Nothing, it just let out a little wine.”

Trying not to laugh, Harry groans again and chucks one of the cushions at Nick. “That was horrible. Actually the worst. Get out of my house.”

“You loved it and you know it.” Nick grins and pulls at his shirt until Harry lies back down again. “Don’t even pretend.”

They do put on a film eventually, but it’s one they’ve both seen before and they end up talking throughout most of it. What they don’t end up doing is cooking the dinner they were planning earlier; instead, they have pizza and wine, and watch Notting Hill, and Nick teases him about how much of it he can quote along with the actors.

Louis and Liam come back right as the film’s coming to an end, bringing Kate and Alex with them, and all of them join Harry and Nick in the lounge. There’s a bit of a squabble about what they’re watching next until Liam declares that they’re starting his day early and picks Harry Potter, which leads to the horrifying discovery that Nick still hasn’t seen any of the films.

“Mate,” Liam says, looking at Nick like he’s suddenly a completely different person in his eyes, “when we’re both in London, I’m coming over to yours and we’re having a Harry Potter marathon. And you’re not getting out of this.”

Nick has plenty of questions through the whole film, and at first Harry tries to answer some of them along with Liam, but after a while he decides to just leave them to it and scoots closer to Louis, leaning his head on Louis’ shoulder. He smiles to himself when Louis instantly sneaks his hand under Harry’s blanket and intertwines their fingers together.

Right here, surrounded by some of his favourite people and with Louis’ hand in his own, he feels so overwhelmingly at home, he has to close his eyes for a few seconds and swallow down the emotions welling up in his throat.

“Everything okay?” Louis asks quietly and Harry squeezes his hand in reassurance.

“Yeah,” he says, “everything’s perfect.”

~*~

“You definitely almost kissed me in front of Nick at least five times today,” Louis says one night once they’re already in bed. Harry hums against where his lips are pressed to Louis’ neck, leaving a trail of kisses there. Louis tilts his head back. “You have no idea how to be subtle.”

“Can you blame me?” Harry bites down gently, not enough to leave a mark, but enough to make Louis gasp. “It’s all your fault anyway. Do you know the definition of personal space? Not having your hands all over me any chance you get?”

Harry would very much like to have Louis’ hands all over him and that seems to be the main problem here. They’re both tactile people, so while there’s nothing weird or surprising about them being all up in each other’s space, Louis has been slowly but resolutely pushing boundaries these past few days, seeing how much he can get away with, and he’s been driving Harry absolutely mad.

Right now, his hand makes its way underneath Harry’s tee, his fingers slipping just barely beneath the waistband of Harry’s boxer briefs. “Are you complaining?”

“Did I say anything about complaining?” Harry presses their mouths together again and doesn’t stop as he pushes Louis onto his back, straddling him. Louis makes a surprised noise and Harry shushes him. “Do you want Nick to hear us?”

“He probably wouldn’t mind,” Louis mutters and laughs when Harry pinches his arm lightly. “Maybe he’d just feel left out.”

Harry shakes his head fondly. "Could you maybe go back to kissing me instead of talking about Nick right now?“

Before Harry has a chance to react, Louis rolls them over, so that Harry’s the one sprawled on his back with Louis halfway on top of him. “If you insist.”

Harry has no idea how long they spend kissing, but he could probably last an eternity like this —  feeling Louis’ weight and warmth against him, their lips moving against each other and hands wandering wherever they can reach. It’s like his whole body, his entire being is reacting to Louis, and he doesn’t know how just kissing can feel like _so much_ , but at the same times it makes perfect sense. Because of course it does. Of course with Louis it does.

After a while, Louis slips his leg between Harry’s, his thigh pressing against Harry’s cock, and Harry can’t help the way his hips automatically buck into it, the moan that leaves his lips.

“Louis,” he breathes. Louis continues the slow movement of his leg and it feels fucking incredible, the pressure against his cock, the knowledge that it’s _Louis_ that’s making him feel like this. He’s almost dizzy with it, with how much he wants them to just make out and grind their hips together like they’re still teenagers who can’t get enough of each other. Harry kisses him roughly, messily, because he wants him so fucking much he’s burning with it but— “Lou, wait.”

Louis instantly stops. He pulls back enough to look Harry in the eyes, overwhelmingly attentive. “Are you alright?”

“Everything’s okay,” Harry assures him, still breathless. “Better than okay. It’s perfect. You’re perfect. It’s just…” He pauses, blush rising high on his cheeks. Louis waits for him to go on and Harry darts in for another kiss before he speaks. “We’re not alone and I don’t— when we— I don’t want to hold back and have to keep myself quiet. I want to just— to let myself get lost in you. To let go and not think about anything else.”

“Christ.” Louis closes his eyes for a second and when he opens them again, Harry’s breath catches in his throat; he feels hot all over just from the way Louis is looking at him. He brushes Harry’s cheek with his thumb. “You have no fucking idea what you’re doing to me.”

“I think I do,” Harry says softly, because his heart feels too big for his chest, because he never thought he’d get to have this again. Because these last few days felt almost surreal and he thinks he could write a million songs for Louis, in all languages that exist, and still have more to say. Because putting all of it into words seems impossible.

Louis kisses him. It’s brief and chaste, but it’s so _tender_ , so full of emotions, Harry has to blink away the sudden burning in his eyes. “I love you.”

Harry can’t do anything about the smile that instantly breaks out on his face. There has never been a time in his life when those three words coming from Louis didn’t make his heart beat harder, make it feel like it was ready to jump right out of Harry’s chest and join Louis’ in his, belonging together. He used to be terrified of that, of all the meaning behind them and the promise they carried, the expectations; he feels none of that now. The happiness and love is taking up so much space inside of him, it’s spilling out with every smile and look and gesture, impossible to contain.

He feels so, so incredibly lucky.

“I love you, too,” he says and it’s the easiest thing in the universe.

~*~

“Sulking in bed won’t cancel Nick’s plane ticket and give him more time off work, you know,” Louis says, running his hand up and down Harry’s back.

Harry doesn’t reply — as much as he’s looking forward to having some actual alone time with Louis, without having to consider other people being around, he has no desire to get up and see Nick off at the airport. With everyone going back to their everyday lives, it almost feels a bit like a bubble is about to burst and they’ll all go back to how things were before, with everything else always getting in the way.

So much has changed over the past months, it’s sometimes still hard to fully believe and comprehend.

“Hey,” Louis says softly, tucking a strand of Harry’s hair behind his ear, “I think you should tell him. About us.”

That very successfully gets Harry’s attention and he suspects that was the whole point. “What?”

“You heard me,” Louis says. “Unless you don’t want to?”

“Of course I want to,” Harry replies instantly. He searches Louis’ eyes, looks for any trace of uncertainty, hesitance there. “Are you sure?”

Louis smiles and just with that, Harry _knows_. “I’ll talk to Lottie tomorrow and Kate will have to find out soon anyway, not only as your best friend, but as your manager. I know you’re worrying about Nick and I think it’d mean a lot to both of you that he finds out this way, that he hears it from you, in person.”

Harry nods, grateful; he can’t deny that it’s something he’s been thinking about. “I don’t think he’ll be all that surprised to find out.”

“If you’re expecting any of our friends to be shocked by this turn of events, I’m afraid you’ll find yourself sorely disappointed,” Louis says, amused. “I don’t think any of them are as oblivious as we’d maybe sometimes prefer them to be.”

“How much do you think Lottie will want to kill me?” Harry asks casually, but Louis knows him far too well to miss the note of actual worry in his question.

He rolls his eyes, but his hand is warm on Harry’s waist. “Stop worrying about Lottie,” he tells Harry. “Honestly, love. Lottie might have her concerns but she wants me to be happy.”

“We have that in common, then,” Harry says. “Because I want you to be happy as well.”

He brushes the crinkles that appear by Louis’ eyes at the words with his fingertips, his heart soaring.

“I am happy. With _you_. She’ll understand that.” Louis leans over to kiss Harry softly before he nudges him in the side. “Now stop being lazy and get your arse in the shower.”

Harry blinks at him, the corner of his mouth curling upwards. “Are you joining me?”

Louis’ eyes darken. “Do not tempt me, Harry Styles. You’re the one who wanted to wait.”

“For a good reason,” Harry points out, finally sitting up. Louis moves closer, wraps his arms around Harry’s waist and presses a kiss to Harry’s bare shoulder.

“We’ll make up for all the waiting tonight, I promise,” he murmurs right against Harry’s skin, causing a shiver to run down Harry’s spine.

“God, you’re not helping,” Harry complains, but he still leans into him, closes his eyes as Louis’ lips move to Harry’s jawline before finally finding Harry’s own. “It’s been so hard to keep my hands to myself.”

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’ve actually enjoyed this.” Louis’ breath is hot on Harry’s skin. “Drawing it out. Waiting. Not allowing yourself to have even a bit of a taste before going all out.”

Harry’s hands twist into the sheets, clutching tightly. “I…” He trails off, because Louis is making it hard to think. Because as much as it felt like torture at times, having Louis so close but not close enough, he _has_ enjoyed this, holding back and knowing what’s waiting at the end of it. Because they both know it’s more than just getting each other off, than simple physical attraction. Because he wants to take Louis apart piece by piece, show him everything he doesn’t know how to put into words, that sometimes feels like words aren’t enough for. Because he wants to map out Louis’ body with his hands and mouth and get to know every inch of it, all over again.

He swallows thickly. He’s very conscious of the fact that if Louis slid his hand just a tiny bit lower, he could cup Harry through his underwear, feel him already getting hard just from this, just from Louis’ closeness, and words, and his own thoughts. There’s a part of him that wants him to, everything else be damned.

Louis doesn’t, which is both a relief and a disappointment. Instead, he presses one more kiss to the back of Harry’s neck before standing up. Harry can see his smile even though he’s not looking at him.

“Later,” he says and Harry waits for the click of the closing door before he buries his face into his hands and breathes deeply.

Louis will be the death of him, he’s sure.

He can’t wait.

~*~

After a quick, cold shower, Harry comes downstairs and finds Nick already there, sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee, answering emails.

“Oh no, you’re not,” Harry says, leaning against the edge of the table. “It’s your last day here and you’re not going back to work yet.”

“If my boss calls to yell at me, I’m letting you deal with it,” Nick replies, but he doesn’t actually need any convincing: with the last few clicks, he closes his laptop and looks up at Harry. “All yours, Styles.”

They have another few hours before Nick’s flight, which they spend in the house, doing nothing in particular. Harry clings to Nick slightly and probably more obviously than he intends to, but Nick doesn’t seem to mind at all, quite the opposite. Harry catches Louis looking a couple of times and gets a fond, understanding smile in return.

When it’s time to leave, Harry watches Louis hug Nick and whisper something that makes him laugh, and it’s just— he can’t believe he’s somehow got to this point in his life, where everything looks like it’s working itself out and falling into place. He can’t remember feeling quite this... quite this content, he thinks. Content is a good word for the feeling spreading in his chest. There are still things to worry about, like there always will be, situations that will arise in the future and need to be solved, but they’ll be ready for them, he reckons. They’ve all learned.

“You don’t have to drive me,” Nick says once he turns around to face Harry. “I’m fine taking a cab.”

“Don’t be daft.” Harry picks up one of Nick’s bags. “You can’t deprive me of extra time in your company.”

“He just wants to have a dramatic saying goodbye moment at the airport,” Louis quips and Nick’s lips quirk up.

“Alright then,” he says. “With the amount of rom-coms we’ve watched, we should be excellent at this.”

“Obviously.” Harry grins. He waits for Nick to press one more kiss to Louis’ cheek and be out the door before he himself walks over to Louis and lightly pecks him on the mouth. “Wish me luck?”

“You don’t need it,” Louis says, running his hand down Harry’s shirt and straightening it. “Don’t keep me waiting too long.”

Harry raises one of his eyebrows. “Do you have plans?”

Louis smirks. “You could say so,” is the only thing he says before heading to the kitchen and leaving Harry staring after him.

“Are you coming or not?” Nick calls, bringing Harry back to reality.

“Get a fucking grip,” he mutters to himself and grabs his car keys.

~*~

The anxiety Harry expects to feel never shows up, not really. When they first get into the car, he’s silent, letting Nick ramble on and getting a bit lost in his own head, in the nerves slowly turning in his belly. They never expand to their full size, though; it’s Nick, Harry realises with a jolt. Nick who’s been through so much with Harry, who supported him in all his decisions and who welcomed Harry back even after they spectacularly fucked up. It’s Nick, who probably recognised Harry’s feelings the moment he laid eyes on him, before Harry even fully understood them himself.

Nick, who asked Harry if he was going to kiss Louis at midnight and never said a word about it to anyone else.

“We’re together,” he blurts out, his eyes fixed straight ahead, on the road in front of him, interrupting in the middle of Nick’s sentence. “Louis and I, I mean. We’re back together.”

“I was telling you an important story about my life,” Nick replies but when Harry glances at him quickly, he’s smiling. “If you wanted me to change the subject, you could at least tell me something surprising. You and Tomlinson being disgustingly in love is not one of those things.”

Warmth uncoils inside of Harry. It feels _good_. It feels so good to tell someone, to share this bundle of emotions that’s been with him for so long. To know that, with time, he could tell the whole world that Louis is his and he is Louis’ and that they’re happy, together. It’s better than good.

“Did you know?” Harry asks because he’s wondered, because curiosity is getting the best of him. “Back at the party. Or were you just winding me up?”

“Both, I think.” When they stop at a red light, Harry turns to look at him. “I definitely suspected, but I also wanted to get a reaction out of you. And Louis has always been a good way to do that.”

“Ironically, I’m pretty sure we would’ve kissed if your drunken arse didn’t come barging in on our moment.”

“Well,” Nick says, “I apologise for my past and very much not deliberate mistake.”

Harry shakes his head. “Don’t be. I think it’s good that it didn’t happen. I don’t think we were ready then.”

Nick watches him for a moment before he says, “I don’t think either of you ever fully got your heart back. It’s like you always kept a piece of each other with you. Like you were always going to find the way back, somehow. Either to give it back or…”

“That’s very poetic, Grimmy,” Harry attempts to say jokingly, but instead his voice comes out thick with emotion and he’s almost glad when the traffic lights change to green and he has a reason to look away.

He doesn’t know if he felt like a piece of him was missing. He reckons they’re both quite complete on their own, but when they’re together, it’s just… _more_. It’s like everything grows in size and colour and gets just a little brighter, a little clearer. Like they complement and enhance rather than complete each other.

“It’s all the rom-coms,” Nick tells him before sighing. “Now I don’t know who I should give the ‘if you break his heart’ speech to. Just… don’t fuck it up, yeah? You’re good for each other. Louis is…” Nick pauses. “Well, you know how he is with people he loves.”

Harry nods. “Yeah, I know.” Louis loves fully and unapologetically and generously, giving all of himself to those he loves, despite all the times he’s been hurt in the process. There’s a certain kind of bravery to it, one that’s taken Harry a long time to learn. That he’s still learning, every day. That Louis kept close to his heart, no matter what. Maybe it somehow got in between the broken pieces and mended along with them, forever intertwined. “I’ll do everything not to make him regret this. I just… I love him, Nick.”

“Of course you do,” Nick says. “And I don’t think he could ever regret _you_.” After a second, he adds, “If you mess up, we won’t play your album on the radio,” which breaks the heavy atmosphere that’s settled between them, but Harry still reads between the lines and takes it to heart. Nick cares about both of them. Harry’s aware that he is the one standing on the more rickety ground, trying to keep his balance as it slowly seals itself back.

At the airport, Nick hugs him tightly. “Thanks for telling me. I’m really happy for both of you,” he says quietly and clears his throat before stepping back. “I’ll text you when I land. Now go back to your boy.”

~*~

Back in the car, Harry checks his phone and instantly drops it.

There’s a text from Louis waiting for him — it’s a picture of him shirtless, and it seems perfectly innocent, only a bit of his naked chest visible, smiling up at the camera. But it’s Harry’s pillow under his head and the message that follows says, _it’s way too cold in this house for the lack of clothes i have on right now_.

Without even stopping to think about it, Harry calls him.

“What the hell, Lou,” he hisses, gripping the steering wheel tightly.

“Told you not to keep me waiting too long, didn’t I?” Louis asks and he already sounds breathless. Harry’s eyes dart around, even though he knows no one besides him can hear Louis right now, know what’s happening. “Had to start without you.”

Harry closes his eyes. “I just got in the car. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“Good,” Louis murmurs and then his breath hitches and Harry feels like he’s losing his goddamn mind. He doesn’t understand how Louis can do this to him so easily. “I’ll keep myself busy.”

He doesn’t wait for Harry to say anything else, just hangs up, and Harry can’t believe this is actually happening to him. He slowly lowers the phone, takes another look at the picture Louis sent, and then he takes a deep breath. Trying — and failing — to keep his imagination from running wild and filling his head with images of just what Louis might be doing right this second, he starts the car and somehow manages to get home in one piece and without breaking any speed limits.

When he steps inside the bedroom, his breath gets all caught up in his throat and he leans against the doorframe, light-headed, his mouth dry. With all the incredibly obscene scenarios he’s managed to come up with on his drive home, somehow this is the one that makes the floor shift beneath him: Louis sprawled on his bed, eyes closed and breathing harshly, undeniably hard but still wearing his underwear, waiting.

“Christ.”

It slips out of Harry’s lips without his permission, causing Louis’ eyelids to flutter, his eyes to focus on Harry, and Harry notices the way Louis is squirming, just the tiniest bit, like he’s desperately trying to keep still and not just get himself off.

Because he’s _waiting_. For Harry. Fucking hell.

“Are you going to just stand there?” Louis asks, quirking his eyebrow, but his voice betrays him, the way his fingers curl into the sheets betrays him. Harry can’t fucking look away. “Come on, H.” He rests his hand on his stomach, inches away from his cock. “Don’t make me beg for it.”

In a flash, Harry’s back in his own body and on the bed, crushing their mouths together in a kiss that makes colours burst behind his eyelids, feels like the universe exploding. It’s fast and intense and Harry wants and wants and _wants_ , and feels like he’ll never get enough of the way Louis responds to him and kisses him back, the way he arches under his hands and breathes out quiet _yeah_ ’s, the way he doesn’t stop touching Harry even for a second, the way it all feels familiar and new all at once. There’s fire in Harry’s veins and he’s burning with this, all of it, and he’s just— fuck. _Fuck_. He loves Louis so much he knows it could ruin him, knows it already has before, but he also loves him so much he trusts it not to.

Louis undresses Harry in record speed, almost ripping some of the buttons off his shirt when they don’t give way to his fingers, whereas Harry’s hands shake as he tugs Louis’ underwear down and his cock springs free. A thrill goes up his spine at the sight, but once they’re both completely out of their clothes, something shifts: Harry finds himself being kissed so slowly, so _softly_ , it’s almost more overwhelming than the intensity from before, a different kind of it. When they pull back and their eyes meet, Harry’s heart lurches and the words rip themselves from his throat, “I love you so much.”

Louis smiles at him, bright and happy. “I love you,” he says and it’s— it’s so much. Because here Louis is, letting Harry in again, letting himself be vulnerable in front of him, _loving_ him, despite everything. Because he trusts him to stay this time. Because when Louis loves, he loves wholly and fiercely, and he doesn’t let you doubt it. And Harry can do nothing but look, frozen in place and overwhelmingly in love, swallowing down feelings that are spilling out everywhere anyway.

“It’s alright,” Louis says, touching Harry’s cheek gently and guiding him back into a kiss. “What do you want, love?”

“Everything,” Harry replies instantly, because he does. Because that’s how it feels. Because he wants to give Louis everything and keep everything he gets in return.

Louis smiles again. They’re both smiling, can’t stop, and perhaps that’s the best part of it all.

“We’ll have time for that,” he tells Harry and Harry’s chest explodes. There’s no other way to describe it, the rush of feelings inside him as he leans forward to press their lips together again. As he does so, their cocks line up and brush together, and they both groan. “Besides, I’ll come in about five seconds once you touch me. Everything might have to wait a bit.”

Harry has to close his eyes at the words and take a deep, steadying breath. Just thinking about it makes him feel too hot in his own skin, makes his cock twitch.

“I want to make you feel so good,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to the corner of Louis’ mouth, his cheek, his jawline, biting down once he gets to his neck, relishing the gasp he receives at that. “I want to give you everything you want.”

He moves down, kissing, and licking, and touching every bit of skin he can, taking in all of Louis’ reactions: the way his breath hitches when Harry brushes his thumb over his nipple, the way he whimpers when Harry swirls his tongue around the other one, the way he moans Harry’s name when Harry kisses the inside of his thigh and stays there until he leaves a mark, so close to where Louis wants him but still too far away.

“Baby,” Louis breathes out and Harry trembles, his heart beating painfully fast. Louis is beautiful like this, with his hair messed up from Harry’s hands and his lips red from Harry’s own, his eyes full of love and desire and trust, without any of the walls he had built around him when he first came to see Harry all those months ago. He’s naked and painfully hard, and he’s Harry’s.

Harry kisses him deeply. “I want you to fuck me,” he says and grinds down, catching Louis’ moan into his mouth. They keep moving against each other, fast and desperate, and it feels glorious. Harry never wants it to stop. “I want to feel you inside me and I want to feel yours and— Louis, I—”

“Fuck, Harry,” Louis says roughly and _comes_ , throwing his head back with a groan, and it’s so fucking hot, Harry can’t do anything but follow with a choked breath and Louis’ name on his lips.

After a few seconds, Harry starts giggling against Louis’ shoulder. “Oh my God, we’re worse than when we were teenagers.”

“That’s a bold statement,” Louis replies, but he sounds amused, too, and soon they’re both laughing, and Harry’s heart feels too big for his chest. “We’re pathetic, but I did warn you.”

“Well,” Harry says, leaning over Louis so he can reach inside the bedside table and take out a bottle of lube and a condom. He drops the latter on the pillow next to them and passes the bottle to Louis. “It took the edge off so you can open me up now.“

Louis’ eyes widen. “H, I— What?” He stammers. Harry keeps looking at him steadily and Louis swallows. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t.” Harry presses a kiss to his lips before rolling onto his back, tugging Louis along with him so that he’s the one on top this time. “I know you’ll take care of me.”

“Always,” Louis promises and Harry smiles so wide his cheeks hurt, because he’s just so unbelievably happy, it’s ridiculous. Louis dropping a kiss to his chest, right where his heart is, doesn’t really help with containing that. “Tell me if it’s too much, yeah?”

Harry wants to say that it won’t be, but seeing Louis’ expression, he just nods, lets Louis’ eyes search his, sweep over his face, until he nods, too, and settles between Harry’s legs. He opens the cap and pours lube over his fingers.

Harry’s oversensitive after his orgasm and it _is_ a lot, he’d be lying if he said it wasn’t, but it’s a lot in the best way. Louis is gentle and careful with him, slow, making sure Harry’s relaxed and comfortable, murmuring reassurances to him, taking his time. Taking _too much_ time.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he repeats when Harry complains about him taking too long, tells him to go faster and give him more, because it feels like Louis has had two of his fingers inside Harry forever now, and like Harry’s going to actually explode from _too much_ and _not enough_ at the same time.

Finally, Louis adds the third finger and kisses Harry when he can’t suppress the whine that leaves his lips at the stretch. He can feel Louis’ cock against his thigh, hard again, and he can’t stop thinking about having it inside him, filling him up. About Louis fucking into him like he is with his fingers, but so much more at the same time. Harry burns inside with everything he’s feeling and bears down on Louis’ fingers because he wants more, because he doesn’t want to wait anymore.

“Please,” he groans, arching his back when Louis hits his prostate, again and again. His cock’s been steadily leaking against his stomach for a while now, and he wants to come so badly it hurts. “Please, fuck me.”

This time, Louis doesn’t protest. Harry gasps at the feeling of emptiness he leaves behind as he pulls back, but all of that doesn’t matter as he watches Louis reach for the condom and put it on before squeezing more lube into his hand and wrapping it around his cock. He gives it a few tugs, slicking it up, and Harry whimpers, his mouth watering; he wants to touch, and he wants to take Louis into his mouth and suck him off while Louis holds him in place, and he wants— he wants—

“We’ll have time,” Louis reminds him, like he can hear exactly what Harry’s thinking right now. Harry guesses it’s not that difficult to figure it out from the look on his face, from the way he keeps looking at Louis like he wants to devour and wreck him. “For all of it.”

“Louis,” Harry pleads, hands itching to reach for his own cock, to give himself some relief, but he keeps them twisted into the sheets, so eager for it he wouldn’t mind begging, without even a trace of shame. He doesn’t know if there’s anything he would be ashamed to do, to say to Louis, and that’s… _God_. Harry wants to keep him forever.

“I’m right here, love.” Louis lines himself up and Harry inhales sharply when he feels the tip of Louis’ cock against his rim. “Are you sure?”

“Just fuck me,” Harry grits out, barely containing the urge to move himself, to push until Louis is all the way inside. He doesn’t have to — as soon as the words are out of his lips, Louis presses inside, slowly, almost torturously so, and Harry’s mouth falls open on a silent moan, stuck somewhere in his throat.

The last time they did this, they were drunk and desperate in a completely different way, and in such a rush, like they knew they shouldn’t be doing it, that if they took the time to slow down and think about it, they’d realise how bad of an idea it was and pull back. Like they just needed to get it out of the way because they both wanted it too much to stop, to be reasonable, instead choosing to ignore all the warning signs.

Now, Louis is fucking him like they have all the time in the world for this, like he wants to remember every second, every sound that leaves Harry’s lips, all the ways in which their bodies fit together. Like he wants to commit all of this to memory and never let it go.

“I love you,” Harry tells him again, because he can, because he does, because Louis is looking at him in a way that makes him want to both close his eyes and never look away, never see anything else. “God, Louis, I love you.”

Louis doesn’t say it back but he doesn’t have to; it’s everywhere. It’s right there when he looks at Harry and when he kisses him, when he shifts his hips just right and finds the spot inside Harry that makes sparks go off in his head and all over his body. It’s in every touch and every moan and every _so, so good for me_ , in every whisper of Harry’s name.

When he finally grips Harry’s cock and strokes it, says, "Come for me, love,” Harry’s gone, his hips bucking as he cries out, and Louis is not far behind. It only takes a few more erratic thrusts for him to come too, stilling inside Harry.

“Fuck,” Louis pants, both of them trying to catch their breaths, and Harry suddenly feels a stupid, ridiculous urge to cry. It’s all raising in his throat as Louis pulls out, takes off the condom and ties it, before dropping it somewhere in the direction of the bin. He lies down next to Harry and smiles when Harry instantly curls into his side, presses a kiss to the top of Harry’s head. "Definitely better than when we were teenagers.“

 _I love you_ , Harry thinks. _I love you, and I’m sorry, and I want to give you the entire universe. I love you._

He looks up and catches Louis’ lips in a kiss, hoping Louis can feel everything he’s feeling right now, hoping he understands all the things Harry wants him to know without having the right words for it.

Judging by the way Louis’ arms tighten around him as he kisses Harry back, he does.

~*~

As February turns into March, Harry goes back to the studio and gets used to coming home to Louis.

He and Louis, they just… they just _are_. Harry doesn’t know how else to explain it, the way they exist together so effortlessly, orbit around each other without a second thought. They settle into all of it so fast, it’s almost like it’s always been like this, like it’s _supposed_ to be like this. The two of them intertwining their lives together.

Harry works on his album and though he’s filled pages upon pages with his words about Louis over the course of his life, the album is not about Louis; it’s about Harry’s life and Harry’s experiences, and Harry telling his own story, for the first time without trying to hide an important part of himself. There are pieces of Louis there, though, of course, strewn throughout some of the songs, because he’s always been a part of Harry’s journey, and Harry hopes he always will be. It feels different now, too, as if he’s singing about a completely different version of himself, and he supposes he is, sort of. He looks at all the hurt and sadness in some of his lyrics, at the heartbreak, and then he looks at Louis, standing in his kitchen and making himself tea, in nothing but his underwear, quietly humming to himself, and he feels fucking overcome with joy and happiness at how lucky he is.

At how in love he is.

When he tells Kate about them, she goes into full-on Manager Mode. She sits him down and asks him questions, discusses their expectations, plans, and boundaries. When she finally seems satisfied with that side of things, her face softens and she grabs Harry’s hand. In that moment, she’s just Kate: one of his closest friends and the person who’s been a constant part of his life in LA, someone who’s always taken care of him and has become part of his family.

“I’m so happy for you, darling,” she tells him, smiling. “You both deserve to be happy, to have this chance. I wish you all the best.”

There are pictures of them together, out and about as well as the ones posted by them on their personal social media accounts. The rumours come and go, as they always do, but the best part of it all is that they don’t care, don’t have to care. They go out to restaurants and concerts and events, and see their friends, and when Louis comes to visit Harry in the studio, he stops with a smile to take pictures with the fans who are there. It’s all out in the open, as much as they want it to be, and it’s all okay.

April is the busiest month for both of them so far and it shows: they fall into bed exhausted more often than not and they don’t see each other as much, and there are a few instances where they snap at each other, tired and easily irritable and stressed beyond belief. It’s also the time when Louis books his flight back to London, to help with all the preparations for Lottie’s wedding that by now are in full swing, and to take care of some business that’s better dealt with in person than over the phone. Harry reckons they’re both just a tiny bit anxious about being away from each other for a longer period of time, for the first time since they got together.

One day during dinner, Louis stops mid-rant as his phone goes off. He takes one look at the screen and groans. Shooting Harry an apologetic smile, he answers it and heads upstairs; for anyone else, he probably sounds completely professional and in control, but Harry catches the notes of anxiety and annoyance lacing his voice, how tired he is.

He gives him just a little over an hour before following him.

“Hey,” he says softly, leaning against the doorframe of his— of _their_ bedroom. The change is clearly visible, too: Louis’ things are all over the place, making it obvious it’s not just Harry living here. It’s like that everywhere in the house and Harry absolutely loves it. “Are you alright?”

Louis lolls his head to the side from where he was staring at the ceiling and looks at Harry. There are slight bags under his eyes and Harry knows he got home in the middle of the night again and was out the door before Harry even woke up this morning.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Louis replies and holds his hand out. Harry makes his way across the room and takes it, sits on the edge of the bed. Louis brings his hand to his mouth and kisses his knuckles. “Sorry for being an insufferable twat lately.”

Harry lies down next to him. “Did you resolve the big breakdown?”

Louis nods. “I think so. I _hope_ so. I got off the phone around ten minutes ago and it’s been silent ever since, thank fuck.”

“And you’ve spent those ten minutes frowning at the ceiling? What did it do to you?”

The corner of Louis’ lips turns up. “I had to cool off for a bit. I was just about to go look for you.” He rests his hand on the small of Harry’s back, pulling him closer so he can kiss him. When they break apart, Louis rests his forehead against Harry’s. “Fuck, I really don’t want to leave.”

“It’ll be okay,” Harry says, even though he doesn’t want him to leave either. Three weeks might not be much in the grand scheme of things, but right now, to Harry, it seems like forever. He’s considering wrapping himself around Louis and keeping him right here, by Harry’s side. Still: “We’ll be okay.”

“Of course we will. That doesn’t mean I have to like it. And I got used to sleeping with you.” When he notices the smirk on Harry’s face, he slaps his shoulder lightly. “I meant actually _sleeping_ , you arsehole.”

Harry blinks at him. “Are you saying you won’t miss sex?” He runs his fingers down Louis’ torso until he can hook them in the waistband of Louis’ jeans. “At all?”

“Don’t put words in my mouth.”

“Could put something else in _my_ mouth,” he mutters and smiles when it gets the desired response: Louis bursts out laughing.

“That was _terrible_. Absolutely unacceptable, H.”

Harry hums, playing with the button on Louis’ jeans. “Is it acceptable for your boyfriend to make you feel better and suck you off, do you think?”

“Or,” Louis starts, throwing one of his legs over Harry so he can push him on his back and sit on his lap, “I could show you just how capable I am of using my own hand while you’re away, and then you could fuck me to remind me just how much I’ll be missing.”

Harry rests his hands on Louis’ thighs and bites back a moan when Louis very deliberately rolls his hips. “Or that,” he somehow manages to get out. “That would work too.”

Louis grins and bends down to kiss him.

~*~

A few days later, Louis wakes him up with soft kisses pressed against his lips.

Harry hums contently and tries to bring him closer, but Louis allows that for only a second before he huffs out a quiet laugh and pulls back. “I need to leave for the airport soon.”

Harry, with his eyes still mostly closed, shakes his head. “No,” he mumbles, holding onto Louis. “Stay.”

He has no idea what time it is, but it’s still dim in the room, and from the way every part of his body feels sluggish and heavy, he knows it must still be ridiculously early. He wants nothing more than to just curl up with Louis and sleep for a bit more, followed by them having breakfast together and only after that discussing their plans for the day. None of this crack of dawn, leaving stuff.

“Sorry, baby,” Louis says, brushing Harry’s cheek with his thumb. “You know I wish I could.”

Harry finally cracks one eye open. He can see the tiredness in Louis’ eyes, the slight tightness around his mouth, even as he tries to smile. He’s all ready to go but reluctant to leave, and Harry, only for a brief moment but also not the first time, entertains the idea of joining him instead of staying in Los Angeles.

Sometimes he really does hate making the adult, responsible choices.

“Text me when you get there safely,” he tells Louis, sitting up. He cups Louis’ face with his hand and leans forward for one more kiss. And another one. “Say hi to everyone from me.”

“Will do.” Louis smiles. “Go back to sleep, H. It’s too early to function.”

“I could take you to the airport,” Harry offers again through a barely concealed yawn and Louis looks at him as if that’s enough of an answer. Harry doesn’t pout but it’s a close call.

Louis groans. “Don’t do that,” he complains. “Don’t look at me like this or I’ll never go.”

“That’s the opposite of a problem,” Harry mutters. He heaves a sigh and hugs Louis, breathing him in. He knows it’s not easy for Louis, either, and he doesn’t want to make this any harder on him. “Three weeks, yeah?”

“I’ll be back to annoy you before you know it,” Louis says and Harry smiles into his shoulder. “Love you.”

“Love you too.” Taking a deep breath, Harry lets him go. “Have a safe flight.”

With one more kiss, he watches as Louis steps out of a room, and he falls back into bed, staring at the ceiling.

“I’m pathetic,” he tells himself, because it’s ridiculous, the way he can already feel Louis’ absence. They’re both adults. It’s only three weeks.

Before he falls back asleep, his phone buzzes with two new messages: _i miss you. xxxxxxx_ followed by _i haven’t even left yet, this is awfully sappy and i hate us_.

He replies to Louis with a bunch of heart emojis and closes his eyes, smiling.

~*~

“You’re pathetic,” Alex says, plucking the phone out of Harry’s hands. He stops a noise of protest from escaping him and looks up at her, standing over him with her hands on her hips.

He sighs. “Give it back,” he says. It’s not like he actually expects it to work, but it doesn’t hurt to try. Alex just raises one of her eyebrows. "What?“

“Give him a break, A.” Kate presses a kiss to Alex’s temple as she passes her, taking a seat on the couch next to Harry. She puts the bowl of popcorn on the coffee table and grabs the remote. “Let them be lovesick idiots for a while and miss each other.”

“I’m not _lovesick_ ,” Harry objects. Alex snorts. Kate rolls her eyes. "I hate both of you.”

“No, you don’t.” Kate holds out her hand expectantly and when Alex reluctantly gives her Harry’s phone, she passes it back to him. “Tell Louis we say hi and then _put it down_. We’re watching a movie and then cooking together. I feel like I haven’t seen you outside of work in forever."

Harry leans over to kiss her cheek. "I’m sorry,” he says and he means it. He knows he hasn’t been the best at properly keeping in touch with everyone lately, but there’s just… there’s been a lot going on, in pretty much every aspect of his life. And he loves it, he does, throwing himself fully into his projects, keeping busy and ticking things off his to-do list, but he knows he tends to get a bit too swept up in it all. And then to add everything that’s been happening with Louis… Harry knows he hasn’t been the best of friends in the past weeks. “You know how I get about these things.”

“Bloody perfectionist,” she mutters and Harry — very kindly and out of the pure goodness of his heart — doesn’t point out how much the same sentiment applies to her. From the look she gives him, he doesn’t have to for all of them to know anyway. She nods at his phone. “I take it things between you two are good, then?”

“No,” Harry replies, typing out one more reply to Louis before putting his phone under the cushion and focusing entirely on Kate and Alex. “Things are terrible. We’re driving each other mad and I’m telling him he should stay in London because I don’t miss him _at all_. I simply don’t want to leave him without a date for the wedding.”

“Oh, I’m sure,” Kate says, amused. “And you’re wearing his tee because there’s nothing else in that pitifully small wardrobe of yours, is that it?”

Harry glances down at himself. He _is_ wearing Louis’ shirt but he thought it wasn’t as obvious; it was tangled with one of his own and he could still smell Louis’ cologne on it, and he didn’t even try to resist the temptation it offered. He misses Louis something fierce and it feels a bit like there’s a piece of Harry missing, because Louis took it with him when he left, like there’s a link between them they got used to overflowing with everything, and is now subdued and restless and waiting for them to be back together to become content again.

“It’s a wash day,” he tells Kate, with the most innocent expression he can muster. “And he stole mine."

Alex laughs. “You and Louis are both gross,” she declares. “I can’t believe you’re so whipped for each other. It’s actually nauseating.”

Harry stares at her incredulously. “Alex, you’re _married_. One time you got drunk and spent the night asking me if you should propose to Kate. When she was already your wife. And then you told her you should just get married _again_.”

Alex waves him off. “We’re talking about you right now,” she says, even as the corners of her mouth twitch and she tries to pretend she’s not glancing at Kate, “and how grossly in love you are.”

Harry grins. “Piss off.”

Kate nudges him. “Honestly, though. It’s good to see you… I don’t know. There’s this _something_ , this light about you… More than there was before, I mean. It’s like you’re just— content. With exactly where and who you are.”

Harry can feel his expression soften.

“I never let myself think— I’m so fucking stupid for him, K. And it’s not even that I can’t imagine my life without him, it’s that I know exactly what it’s like and I don’t want it that way. He makes me feel like there’s no limit to anything. Everything’s just… everything is falling into place, you know?”

"As it should be,” she says and squeezes his hand. “Come on. You can pick the first movie.”

“I don’t want to watch fucking rom-coms,” Alex complains but she settles on the couch next to him, doesn’t wrestle the remote out of his hand, and only grumbles a little.

~*~

Later that night, when Kate’s already asleep on the couch and Harry’s lost the plot of whatever they were watching, he gets a message from Louis who’s already started his day, and he can’t control the smile that automatically forms on his face. He knows Alex is looking at him from where she’s curled into his side and when he meets her eyes, there’s unguarded affection on her face, something she doesn’t show very freely.

“I love you and I’m really fucking happy for you, you huge sap,” she whispers and Harry hides his smile by pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

“Right back at you, A.”

~*~

The day of Lottie’s wedding is like taken straight out of a dream.

“Watch it start raining right before everything starts,” Louis muses, fiddling with his tie in front of the mirror. He’s not wearing anything besides his underwear that he put on after rolling out of bed, and Harry’s finding the whole thing extremely distracting. “I mean, people always go on about kissing in the rain for some reason, right? Maybe that’ll make it more romantic.”

“Don’t jinx it,” Harry replies. His phone pings with a new message but he ignores it, not taking his eyes off Louis; they had time to greet each other properly after Harry arrived last night, but he wants to take advantage of the little time alone they have left before they have to join everyone else. The rest of the world can wait for a bit longer. “You know how worried Lottie’s been about the weather. She deserves to have a perfect day.”

“Of course she does.” Louis gives the tie one final tug and, satisfied, takes it off and places it next to the shirt he’s going to wear. He turns towards Harry, a smile teasing at the corner of his lips. “You know, if you’re hungry, you could always call the room service they have here instead of looking at me like that.”

Harry grins, not feeling even the smallest bit of shame at being caught staring. “Like what?”

Louis rolls his eyes, but his smile has already broken through. He sits down, reaching out to run his fingers through Harry’s hair. “We don’t have time for a repeat of last night and you’re making it incredibly difficult to remember that.”

Harry catches Louis’ hand before he can withdraw it and laces their fingers together. At the same time, he heaves a sigh. “I’d try harder to change your mind, but that would probably spoil my chances of convincing Lottie she shouldn’t hate me.“

“Don’t be daft,” Louis says. "She loves you, she’s just… cautious. Just be your usual, charming self and you’ll be fine. You’ll have all our aunties fawning all over you in no time. They’ll probably start inquiring about _our_ wedding next.”

Harry’s heart skips a beat at the casual way Louis mentions that. He thinks back to their conversation over Christmas and he wonders whether Louis’ mind is back there as well, today. “I think you should talk more about how charming and lovely I am. You know, to calm my nerves.”

Louis snorts. “I don’t know why I even put up with you.”

“You love me the most.”

Louis leans down to press a light kiss to his lips. “Go get your arse in the shower,” he tells him, but his expressions is fond, and it doesn’t even take two minutes after Harry goes to the bathroom for him to hear the shower door sliding open behind him. In the next second, he feels Louis wrap his arms around him and kiss his shoulder.

He tilts his head back and smiles.

~*~

The venue is a flurry of noise and activity as the last preparations are being taken care of. Harry notices Gemma somewhere in the crowd and he waves at her in greeting, but he doesn’t attempt to stop her long enough to talk; she’s a force of nature when she gets like this and they’ll have enough time for a chat later, when she can sit back and relax, and admire her own hard work. And there’s plenty to admire: the whole place looks beautiful, washed in sunlight and decorated with pale pinks and golds and full of flowers, stunning and simple all at once, and somehow so completely _Lottie_ , he wouldn’t be surprised if they told him they’ve lifted the image straight out of her brain and just put it here.

“Wow,” he breathes out, his eyes flicking from one thing to another, stopping only for a second before something else catches his attention.

“They’ve outdone themselves, haven’t they?” comes from behind him as Jay joins them. As soon as they notice her, she pulls Harry into a hug. “Hello, darling.”

Harry smiles into her shoulder. “It’s good to see you, Jay.”

“You should’ve come with Louis earlier, then,” she admonishes lightly. “You know there’s always a place for you with us.”

He tightens his hold on her for a second before stepping back. Jay’s always made him feel like he’s right at home when he’s with her, ever since he was sixteen, and nothing’s changed that. He couldn’t possibly explain just how much it means to him. “Believe me, I wish I could have, but it was a bit of a bad timing. Busy schedule and all.”

“But you’ll stay with us for a bit longer this time, I hope?” She inquires and Harry hears Louis make a quiet, amused noise next to him.

“I’ll have to do a bit of travelling soon,” he replies, “but the plan is to stay in England for a bit, yes. Mum wants us to come stay with her as well.”

“Good.” She nods before turning to Louis. “Lou, love, I think Lottie might need you with her. She’s getting a bit… stressed out.”

“And by that you mean she might snap and kill us all for making a fuss,” he says, but he doesn’t hesitate before pressing a kiss first to Harry’s and then Jay’s cheeks and excusing himself. Harry watches him disappear inside the building and then turns back to Jay, who’s looking at him with a smile.

“Come on,” she says, taking his arm and starting to walk slowly, “tell me how everything’s been with you.”

So he does: they talk about living in LA, about work and how the album’s coming along, about everything back in Doncaster and how much she misses having the house full of children. She stops on the way to introduce him to some of their family already milling around, and there’s never a question about who Harry is — he’s with Louis, and everyone accepts that answer without blinking, readily inviting him into their conversations.

Finally, they come to a stop.

“Harry, I can’t tell you how happy I am that everything turned out this way between you,” Jay says, "how good it is to see Louis so at ease and happy.”

Harry ducks his head as he feels warmth bloom across his cheeks. “I’m happy, too,” he says softly. “I know you might be worried—”

“A mother always worries, love,” she interrupts him gently. “I wouldn’t worry any less if he started dating a complete stranger. To be honest, I would probably worry even more. I know things between you haven’t always been— but you’re our family. I trust Louis and he trusts you and that in itself is enough for me.”

Harry’s at a loss for words for a moment and Jay allows him time to collect himself and his thoughts. Eventually, he simply says, “I love him, Jay,” because he thinks that’s what it all comes down to, in the end. "I want him to always be happy.“

“Louis has gone through a lot, as you’re probably well aware,” she says quietly and Harry can easily see how much it hurts her to even think about life not treating Louis kindly. “But he’s never lost his heart through any of it and you haven’t either. You both deserve love and happiness, and you’ll take care of each other, there’s no doubt in my mind about that. I trust you with his heart, Harry, but most importantly, Louis trusts you with it. And that’s the most precious gift.”

“I—” Before he has a chance to say anything, there’s a loud, excited shout of, “Harry!” and he notices Ernest running towards them. Without thinking about it, he crouches down and catches him in a hug, almost losing his footing with the impact of it. He laughs. “Hi, mate.”

“Ernie’s been asking about you,” Jay tells him, looking down at both of them fondly and ruffling Ernest’s hair once he disentangles himself from Harry. He bites the inside of his cheek, as if suddenly slightly embarrassed about his outburst, but Harry keeps smiling at him, and the light in his eyes doesn’t dim. “Do you want to show Harry the way inside?”

Ernest nods. “Lou’s looking for him.”

"You better go, then,” she says, but before she can walk away, Harry hugs her again.

“Thank you,” he whispers and then lets Ernest take his hand and lead him towards the building Louis disappeared into earlier, all the while telling Harry stories about everything that’s happened since they last spoke. Louis always makes sure to talk to his siblings as much as he can, and since they got together, it’s also meant involving Harry in some of the catch-up sessions they have, especially with the younger twins.

Louis keeps mentioning how ‘taken’ Ernest is with him, and it’s a constant source of both amusement and fondness for him.

Ernest takes him into the room with Louis and Lottie, the latter with her hair and makeup already done, and the two of them look up as they step inside.

“Hello,” Harry says, watching Ernest run out again. Lottie looks at him steadily for a few second before a smile breaks out on her face.

“Thanks for not ruining my sitting arrangements,” she jokes, and Harry can immediately feel the set of his shoulders relaxing. “Louis tells me I have to play nice.”

“I’d rather you be honest, as you already know,” he replies lightly, tracing the edge of a table with his finger. He sees Lottie’s eyes travel from him to Louis and down to Louis’ hand resting gently on the small of Harry’s back, before settling back on his face.

“Just… don’t fuck it up,” she finally says, but the smile she tacks on somehow makes it come out sounding like more of an approval than Harry’s expected. “I’m afraid if I tried to stand up and somehow ruined my friend’s hard work on me, I’d be killed, but pretend I gave you a hug, yeah?”

“I’ll collect it later,” Harry assures her.

It’ll be okay, he reckons. They’ll all make sure it is.

~*~

Harry doesn’t make it far into the actual ceremony before he feels his eyes stinging with tears, but he’s not nearly as bad as Louis, who tears up almost as soon as he sees Lottie walking down the aisle.

“You’re such a softie,” Harry whispers and has to stop himself from reaching out and pulling Louis into his arms.

“Shut up,” Louis mutters. Harry can’t even imagine how he feels, seeing his little sister up there, getting married. She looks beautiful, of course, and her dress steals Harry’s breath away, but it’s the expression on her face that stands out to him the most, makes it so hard to look away. She looks so overwhelmingly, unrestrictedly happy, so focused on this one person she’s promising to spend the rest of her life with, it’s like the rest of the world around her falls away and doesn’t exist, like none of them are there. Like, in this moment, nothing else matters besides the two of them.

"Hey.” Harry puts his hand on top of Louis’. “I love you,” he says, overcome with emotion, because he can’t stop thinking about the two of them like this, at some point in the future. He knows they still have a long way to go, that marriage isn’t the most important, that it’s not something they _need_ , but it’s a promise, a celebration of love, and he wants it for them, one day. He knows it matters to Louis, too.

“I love you,” Louis says back, intertwining their fingers together and squeezing tightly.

Harry doesn’t let go.

~*~

The first time Harry performs the debut single from his first solo album, his mum and Gemma are both there, Nick’s grinning at him, and Louis kisses him as soon as he steps backstage.

When he’s asked about the process of writing and recording, he says, “Honest. I wanted to be honest,” and knowing that’s exactly what he did, what he _could_ do, pouring his heart and soul into those songs, puts a small, proud, and sincerely happy smile on his face, helps settle the nerves twisting in his stomach.

When he’s asked about Louis, the smile turns softer. He avoids answering the question directly, like he always does, but he thinks it’s all there anyway, in his face and in the way they’re living, not attempting to hide anything, just without the outright, official confirmation. It’s all simply a matter of time, anyway.

He’s happy. He’s genuinely, ridiculously happy, and he can’t wait to see what the future brings.

~*~

_It’s Harry’s seventeenth birthday, he’s curled up in bed with Louis, and he feels so painfully in love, it’s terrifying._

_“I think,” Louis whispers, his voice soft and barely audible, his fingers laced with Harry’s, “I think, no matter what happens, we’ll always find our way back to each other.”_

_Harry’s heart stutters in his chest; he surges forward and kisses Louis, desperately hoping that he’s right._

~*~ 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Come say hi to me on [Tumblr](http://clairdeloune.tumblr.com). <3


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